
lass 




^ 



The 

Merchant Prince of Cornville 



A COMEDY 



BY SAMUEL EBERLY GROSS 



Represented in London, England, at the Nov klty Thp:ajkk, 
on Novemligr ii. i8q6. 



Chicago and Nkw Vork: 
RAND, McNALLV cS^ COMPANV 

PUBLISHERS. 



c 1 ^^- t 



■^ IP 






CcpTTisrfc-. 1&6. by Saaaael Bberty Groiss. 



The Merchant Prince of Cornviile 
A COMEDY 



The Merchant Prince of Cornville. 

A Comedy. 

THE CHARACTERS. 

Whetstone The Merchant Prince, suitor to Violet. 

Bluegrass His secretary. 

Scythe A scientist. 

Ideal A poet, suitor to Violet. 

NoRTHLAKE A philosopher. 

FoPDOODLE A fop, suitor to Violet. 

Tom His njalet. 

Punch A miscellaneous person. 

Jack Son to Northlake and Catharine. 

PoMPEY A butler. 

Hannibal A servant. 

Violet Niece and ovard to Northlake. 

Ninon Her maid. 

Catharine Former njoife to Northlake. 

Susan Housekeeper to Whetstone. 

Maskers, Musicians, etc. 

Place . . . The Seaside. 

Time . . . The Last Siuarter of the Nineteenth Century. 



SYNOPSIS OF SCENERY AND INCIDENTS. 

ACT I. 

Scene I. Ati orchard by the sea. Sunrise. The pursuit and discouery. 
II. A pa^uilion, 'with 'vie-iv of the sea. The arrival of the Mer- 
chant Prince. 

ACT II. 

Scene I. On the seashore. Business, science, and romance. 

II. Portico of the Dolphin bin. A speculation in love. 

III. A costumers shop. A study in characters. 

IV. A street. The fop and the ape. 

V. A boudoir. Before the masquerade. 

ACT III. 

Scene I. A masquerade. Assembly of the maskers. 

II, A balcony. The lover in armor. 

III. The same. A minor love affair. 

IV. The same. Hearts unmasked. 

ACT IV. 

Scene I. A room at the Dolphin Inn. The hour before the combat. 
II. A clearing in a voood. The literary duel. 

III. The Glen of Ferns. Love' s high noon. 

ACT V. 

Scene I. A room at the Dolphin Inn. A prelude to a serenade. 
II. A hall in a villa. A speculation in stocks. 
III. A lavcn before a villa. The serenade and finale. 



The Merchant Prince of Cornville. 

A COMEDY. 

Act the First. 

Scene I. — An orchard by the sea. Sunrise. Birds singing. 

Enter Ideal. 

Ideal. 
The hour of dawn ! — how thrilling and intense! 
The matin songs of birds, that dart and soar 
On quivering wings, now break upon the sense 
As sharply as the cannon's voice at mid-day ; 
In yonder wood that guards the sea-cliff's wall, 
Where sullen shadows shrink away and flee 
Before the rising sun's advancing spears, 
The day-detesting owl hath turned his back 
Unto the light, and sought the sheltering cowl 
Of ivy web about the oak-tree thrown; 
And all the glowing world, — wood, sea, and sky, — ■ 
Is most sublimely beautiful beneath 
This pendulous light, that, like an avalanche 
Of golden beams . . . But I have spoken the word 
That halts my fancy's flight, and brings me back 
To earth and its dull cares, and our dull age, — 

9 



The Merchant Prince 

Our golden age 't is called : our age of gold, 
Hard and material, when our best ideals 
But folly seem, all things are bought and sold, 
And even love itself is merchandise. 
Alas ! the many years that I have know^n, 
And many ills, in this same golden age, 
Have brought their bitter harvest to my breast. 
Like frozen grain beaten by winds unkind 
From out the icy north ; but as those seeds 
Fall sterile on the earth, nor glow with life, 
So shall my sorrows take no living root 
Within my bosom. . . . Now do I recall, 
Like a sweet picture in a gallery hung, 
How I last eve at early twilight watched 
The figure of a lovely maiden bending 
Tenderly o'er a vase of new-blown flowers, 
Upon a breezy terrace, underneath 
A green-hued lattice-work, that, like a shield 
Embossed with morning-glories, hides and guards 
Her chamber window. Passing there this morn, 
I looked upon the flowers as one might 
Who, barred from out the walls of Paradise, 
Would seize some blossom growing sweetly there } 
Then, while my eager heart tumultuous beat, 
Sending the tell-tale blushes to my cheek, 
I plucked a flower — this crimson, perfumed pink. 
'Tis woven from a clod of earth, and yet 
To me 'tis fairer than a star of heaven. 
Sweet flower ! sweet flower ! last evening I did see 

10 



of Cornville. 

Thy mistress from her chamber casement lean 

And gaze ecstatic on the pilgrim moon 

Tracing a silvery path along the sky ; 

But thou didst woo her from that magic gaze, 

Drawing her to thee with the subtler force 

Of finer particles than live within 

The cold moon's slanting beams. . . . 

But soft ! yonder my lady's self appears, 

Slow moving down the orchard path. I '11 seek 

A covert by this tree. Seeing the hunter 

Doth fright the deer away. 

[//if hides behi?id an orchard tree. 

Enter Violet. 

Violet. 
Which way 's the robber gone ? I 'm sure I saw him here. 

Ideal [«;/V^]. 

What ! I 'm a robber, am I ? Well, this tree hath no tell- 
tale bark, and I '11 stay here. 

Violet. 
I thought I heard some one speak, but not from under- 
ground, for he's not a goblin; nor yet from the sky, for 
he 's not an angel ; nor yet from the earth, for no dreadful 
man is near. Why, what is that in the sky ? 'T is last eve's 
moon, that will not to her couch by day. To rest ! pale 
planet, O gentle moon, where is thy blush ? Thou art 

II 



The Merchant Prince 

dismantled by the roseate sun. Alack ! what divine dramas 
are there in the skies ! 

Oh, would that I within thy circlet's rim 

Might glide by curves of brightening lawns. In thee 

The day is half a month till noon, and thoughts 

Are gentle as the velvet fawns that glide 

From out thy rustling groves. In thee, rare flowers 

Their fragrant balms distil, and perfume wreathes 

The girdling hours. Let me fancy this ! 

Ideal. 

Now doth she see her fragile fancies rise on wings of 
gossamer, like one who chases golden butterflies, flying before 
the dawn. What sweet mysterious alchemy could beauty 
such as hers persuade ! 

Violet. 

But list; what's this? A spirit in the tree, — a talking 
spirit, too ! I '11 listen ; 't is my privilege in this orchard. 
Go on, sweet spirit, I 'm listening. \_Pauses.'] Nay, go on, 
my time is brief; or if thou 'dst rather, I '11 not overhear. 

Ideal. 

Nay, hear, sweet maid; I'm fated in this tree to dwell, 
and ne'er before so spoke my heart unto a maid. 

Violet. 
Canst thou not speak in rhymes ? Why, spirits should 

12 



of Cornville. 

be poets too ; or is the tree's rind too hard ? I do pity thee 
for a poor spirit. 

Ideal. 

Nay, hear me. When the tree is in its blossom, then 
rhymes come fleetest ; when the tree is in its fruitage, then 
rhymes come sweetest. Thou once, on such a time, didst 
sit beneath these ripening boughs, in sweetest reverie wrapt, 
and I, while musing on thy beauty and the gentle spirit 
within thee, didst weave these rhymes. 

Violet. 

I well remember itj and if thou art a truthful spirit I will 
listen to thy rhymes. Thou mayst begin. 

Ideal. 
What pure mysterious alchemy 

Doth beauty chaste as thine persuade 
To sublimate its crude degree 

In sweetest herbs of earth displayed ! 

Violet. 
Stop, stop ; I command thee ! Thou art much too philo- 
sophical for a poet. I 'm weary. 

Ideal. 
Thou didst halt me in the middle of my verse. 
For I philosophy discern 

In quivering lips, in liquid eyes, 
In rounded neck, and cheeks that burn 
Like rose-leaves 'neath the radiant skies j 

13 



The Merchant Prince 

In hair as golden as the sun 

That wreathes the circling grove, and seems 
As fine and delicately spun 

As if 't were woven of his beams. 

Violet. 

Thou 'rt much too flattering for a spirit. Thou art no: 
a cold spirit, but a warm one. Good spirits should be cold. 
Mend thy rhymes, or I will leave thee in thy prison. 

Ideal \_aside^. 
I '11 learn if she beheld my robbery this morn. 

\_Jkud.^ Didst thou awake? 
Didst thou awake ? 
That hour when moonbeams glide away 
'Neath limpid tints of twinkling day. 
When from the wires of its cage, 

That string between from bar to bar, 
Thy prisoned bird, in tuneful rage. 

Awoke unto the morning star, 
And sang unto the woodland wild 

That hides the sun beyond the hills, 
And hides, in wavy foliage isled. 
The breezy nest of cooing bills ? 
Didst thou awake ? 
Didst thou awake ? 

Violet. 
Why, that sounds like a morning serenade. Now indeed 

H 



of Cornville. 

do I know thee for a spirit of light-tripping gayety ; but 

I '11 answer no questions. I was wakened by a robber who 

from my chamber-window plucked my favorite flower. 

Spirits should know all things, and not be so inquisitive for 

ladies' secrets. 

Ideal. 

Give me the wings of yonder lark, 

Soaring into the perfumed dawn, 
Beyond the chimney's beckoning spark 

That, blackening, strews the beaten lawn. 

For I, within this tree immured, 
With fervent glances scan the ships 

That sail and sail until, obscured. 
The ivory fleet the ocean dips ; 

While swarms of white-winged memories, 

Like missive-bearing doves, arise 
From out the pure pellucid seas. 

And float above these orchard skies. 

Violet. 
Why, what pretty fruit that tree doth bear ! I have a 
mind, but, alas ! not the heart, to leave thee in thy tree, to 
rhyme to me some other day. Art done ? No answer. 
Then I '11 rhyme, too. Spirit, thy art 's infectious. 

Move slow, thou circlet of the moon. 

Turn not to zones thy brightening lawns ; 

Let day be half a month till noon ; 

Wake not with light thy distant dawns. 

But, fie, why doth the genial sun make the moon so pale? 
I would not turn so pale were a man to appear in this orchard. 

15 



The Merchant Prince 

[^Pauses.l Sweet spirit, appear, appear ! No answer. Hast 
lost thy speech, or doth the tree's bark encompass thee too 
closely ? If thou art in the trunk of this fair tree, I '11 
petition it with ardent lips to ope its close-bound rind and 
let thee out ; but how ? The tree cannot hear, being deaf, 
but the tree can feel, being alive; so then, I '11 kiss thee, thou 
hard, hard tree. \_Bends to kiss the tree^ when Ideal appears 
and kisses her.^ What spirit art thou in man's disguise to 
thus affright a lady who ne'er did harm to thee, but wished 
thee well ? How couldst thou treat me so ? 

Ideal. 
Fair maid, thou fill'st me with such keen delight I know 
not what to say, but pause for utterance, my lips being 
newly laden with a sweet burden. 

Violet. 
Nay, not so. Thou art too literal. I do entreat thee 

for an answer. 

Ideal. 

Thou art the most fair complainant that e'er did sue for 
answer, and in a just cause, too. How could the earth resist 
the sun ? How could the sea resist the tide? How could 
a spirit resist heaven? 

Violet. 

I thought thou wert a spirit who 'd been in heaven long 

ago. 

Ideal. 

Never before did I even dream of heaven ; and for 
material answer make I this : Our spirits were kindred, and 
by that fair relationship I did salute thee so. 

i6 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 

Now do I know thee : thou art no spirit, but a robber, — 
a substantial robber who plucked my favorite pink from 
my window ; but I, rising in quick haste, followed thee 
adown this oi\:hard path. Thou thought'st thou hadst 
escaped me. I did see thee but half plainly, by the dawn's 
most timorous light that through the lattice wooed my 
pillow. 

Ideal. 

As thou didst wake ! Oh, would I were the dawn's most 
delicate light that wooed thy soul's fair stars exiled within 
thy crescent-curtained eyes ! 

Violet. 

And if thou wert, thou wert but a robber still. Thou 
hast the flower in thy hand ! 

Ideal. 

Oh, I have treasured it ; yet will I return to thee the pink. 
'Tis thy property. 

Violet. 

Nay, keep the flower, if thou lovest it so. 

Ideal. 

Ay, then I'll think it had its birth 'neath twilight's violet 

sky. 

Violet. 

Think not too lightly of the flower; 'tis most rare, — 
grown from a seed found in the tomb of an Egyptian 
z 17 



The Merchant Prince 

mummy. She was an ancient princess who died in the 
flower of her youth from love ill requited : so read the 
antique parchment entombed with her, — a legend pitiful 
and true ; but then, 't was three thousand years ago. 

Ideal. 
Love has grown more constant since then. 

Violet. 
I hope thou wouldst not jest at love ? 

Ideal. 

Nay, not I. I 'd sooner jest at all fair properties in 
heaven and earth than jest at love. 

Violet. 

'Tis a flower of ancient lineage. I planted it with mine 
own hands, and watched it grow. What joy I felt to see it 
grow, I ne'er can tell. When first its tender bud beseeched 
the sky, it was athirst ; I brought it water from a crystal 
spring. From simple bud to leafy stalk it grew, and then 
the petals formed, giving; sweet promise of a flower ; till 
yesternight from its green husk the perfect blossom bloomed, 
and I did shed a tear upon it, thinking of that poor princess. 

Ideal. 

Dost think her spirit lives in heaven? 

i8 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 
That do I most truly. I would not that thou thought'st 
differently. Thou couldst not be so cruel ! 

Ideal. 

Thy simple story moves me beyond the power of prayer. 
Now that the flower buried with her doth live, let it be- 
queath a legacy of love most true and constant to our 
hearts ; so shall the princess from beyond see within our 
lives a perfect love wrought by her most heavenly agency. 
And here \_kneeling^^ on bended knee, by thy dear hand that 's 
clasped in mine, I vow, by all the subtle bonds that nature 
placed within the world to bind us to the truth, to love 

thee ever. 

Violet. 

Rise ; thou art the planet of my maiden firmament. I do 

believe thee. My vow is linked with thine most sweetly 

and inseparably. 

Ideal. 

Thy words are bright flowers, whose subtle sv/eets I do 

extract and hide away. Ay, I shall live on them when thou 

art absent, as the patient bee lives on his hoarded store 

in winter. 

Violet. 

I hope thou speakest truly as thou dost fairly, for thou 
speakest as a poet doth, and I have heard, — but pardon me ; 
I '11 not quote the idle gossip. 

Ideal. 
I pray thee, do. 

19 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet. 

Well, then, to heed thy prayer. I 've heard it rumored 
that poets, in their grammar, all the moods of love do 
conjugate in swift succession. 

Ideal. 
I '11 prove to thee that gossip is untrue. 

Violet. 

I 've heard that they are variable ; that they contract the 
four seasons inco the compass of a day, — call the morning 
spring, the forenoon summer, the afternoon autumn, and the 
evening oft the depth of winter ; that they in idle ways 
say thus: Why, prithee, this forenoon, being in love be- 
neath the equator, I felt the fervent sun impart his fever 
to the earth ; but to-night, alack ! being out of love, Lap- 
land hath no denizen colder than I. I pray thou wilt not 

treat me so. 

Ideal. 

By Heaven, 'tis a scandal ! I 'd have thee try me. Use 
pique, jest, coldness, stratagem, and all the dire weapons in 
a maid's armory to try her lover, and if, knowing thou art 
true, I do not in all love's humors love thee still, why 

then — 

Violet. 
Yes, why then — 

Ideal. 
Why, then, I '11 return to dust. 

20 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 
Alack ! that would be unkind. 

Ideal. 

Nay, try me. 

Violet. 

Perchance I may. \_Jside] But only for a moment. 

\^Jlou(r\ How high 's the sun, pray ? 

Ideal \_looking at his watch']. 

I'll be precise, and timely guard my answer. 'Tis nigh 
unto five o'clock ; the minute-hand lacks one, the second- 
hand — 

Violet. 

Stop, stop ! thou outspeedest Time himself. How desper- 
ately thou rushest from the hour to the minute hand — from 
thence there is but a fraction of time to the second hand, 
which I take to be not a good token ; for thou hadst but a 
minute ago my hand, and yet thus swiftly thou wouldst 
approach a second hand. 

Ideal. 

Shall we have no watches with second hands ? 

Violet. 

I '11 have no merchandising. Thou a poet and a lover, 
and lookest at thy watch to tell the sun's height ! Alas ! 
put up thy watch ; lovers do not time themselves by 
watches. Thou wouldst not so at night register the moon's 

21 



The Merchant Prince 

height ; but upon a pressing question, How high 's the moon ? 
wouldst answer, A little higher than yonder rose-bush, if 
the moon rose late ; or, perchance, A little higher than 
yonder tree-top, if the moon rose early. The sun 's as fine 
to me by day as the moon by night. Poetry doth not steal 
away at dawn of day. But thou must go ; good-by for a 
moment. \_Looks up the orchard path.~\ Nay, good-by for all 
day, for I do spy my guardian uncle. 

Ideal. 

Dreams do not end but oft begin at dawn. Give me 
leave to walk with thee at midday in the Glen of Ferns. 

Violet. 

High noon must be high dream-time when poets love. 
Await me there to-morrow. 

Ideal, 

High noon will brighter grow when thou dost come. 

\_Exit Ideal. 
Violet. 

As fair spoken a robbery as e'er the sun shone upon. A 
fair and gallant robber, too, who robs me of my heart in 
broad daylight, detected in the very act by his own watch. 
I made the robber tell the hour and minute, so that in any 
court no cruel alibi could lie. I 'm fain to think I '11 ne'er 
again detect so fine a robber. Who 's he ? What 's he .? 
I know not, I care not. I would not ask that question 
rude and mercenary. I do but know he 's the most gentle 

22 



of Cornville. 

gentleman I e'er did meet. Oh, if this be love, 'tis very 
kind and sweet ! 

NoRTHLAKE \afar in the orchard^ calh\ 

Violet ! 

Violet. 

'T is very strange, for I have heard in sundry rhymes, and 
good rhymes too, that moonlit eves were the only seasons 
suited for robberies so thinly veiled as this. Why, my own 
heart doth beat as if there were two hearts within, and I 
had gained another rather than lost my own. How can it 
be? But gently, — I'll not argue the question ; 'tis much 
too deep and sweet for idle questioning. Sweet argument, 
wait for my uncle. 

NoRTHLAKE \afar^ calh~\. 
Violet ! 

Violet. 

Why, I forgot to ask his name 1 I could not call him did 
I wish to, and I might wish, being affrighted. Yet he shall 
not want so simple a matter ; I '11 give him a name. I '11 
call him [commandingly^ Oliver ! \_Entreatingly'] Oliver ! 
thy Violet calls thee. [^Indifferently~\ Oliver! I do not like 
the name, 't is too round. 

NoRTHLAKE \_afar~\. 
What, ho, Violet! 

Violet. 

I'll call him Peter. What, ho \^piquantly'\^ Peter! 'Tis 
too piercing ; I '11 none of it. Let me think : I '11 call him 

23 



The Merchant Prince 

[_sloiufy'\ Daniel ! Dost hear me [inquiringly slow~\^ Daniel ? 
I like it no better than the first. 'T is too long. 

NoRTHLAKE [jtearer^. 
Where art thou, Violet ? 

Violet. 

I'll call him — yes, I'll call him Joseph. [Tenderly^ 
Joseph ! wilt thou not come ? Thy Violet calls thee. No, 
no, 't is a mistake ; I '11 not call him Joseph, — 't is too, too 
flat. I '11 call him — let me see — I '11 call him a name borne 
by none other, oft dreamed by me, but never met until this 
morn. I '11 call him my Ideal, my dear, dear Ideal. 

NoRTHLAKE [very near'\. 

Violet ! Where can the maiden be ? [Enter North- 
lake.] I surely saw her going down the orchard path. 
[^Discovers Violet.] Why, there thou art ! Why didst 
thou not answer me ? 

Violet. 
Didst thou call me ? 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Did I call thee ? Why, if I called once, I called thee 
twenty times. I 'm almost hoarse with calling. Why art 
thou out at break of day ? One might almost think thou 
wast in love, to rise so early. 

24 



of Cornville. 

Violet [^aside']. 
That am I. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Thy lover comes to-day. 

Violet [^aside']. 
I wonder if he knows ! 

NoRTHLAKE. 

He 's rich, a thorough business man and solid gentleman. 

Violet. 
I don't like solid gentlemen. Who is he ? 

Northlake. 

A princely merchant in the West, and owner of banks, 
mills, stores, houses, and lands. Thou shalt have a list of 
it all made for thee on satin. Profits of business are five 
hundred thousand a year. Think of it! thy wedding-dresses 
of white satin I 

Violet [^abstractedly']. 

Shall I have five hundred thousand dresses of white satin 
a year ? 

Northlake. 

No, no; thou hast mixed the profits of the business with 
the number of dresses. 

25 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet. 

Are the profits of the business five hundred thousand 
white satin dresses a year ? 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Stop, now ; this shall all be explained after thou art 
married. 

Violet. 

But I'll have it explained before I'm married. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Be patient, Violet. He will woo thee properly, and 

explain all things. I am to meet him at the Dolphin Inn 

to-day. He '11 be in a very good humor at my account of 

thee. 

Violet. 

I 'm well enough without his good humor. Pray, what 's 
his name ? 

NoRTHLAKE. 

A merchant prince, the Honorable Hercules Whetstone, 
Mayor of Cornville. 

Violet l^laughmg"]. 

What a name ! Ha ! ha ! Couldst thou not add something 
to it ? 'Tis too short. 

NoRTHLAKE, 

Thou wilt be added to it. 

26 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 
That will I not be. 

NORTHLAKE. 

What 's this, — rebellion ? Who 's been here ? Hast 
thou seen any one in this orchard ? 

Violet. 
No one but my Ideal. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

That's too insubstantial. 

Violet. 
More substantial than thou dreamest. 

Northlake. 

I 'd think thou wast bewitched by love, did I not know 
thou never hadst a lover. 

Violet. 

That was true yesterday ; but to-day ! {_Sighing'^ Ah, 
well-a-day I 

Northlake. 

Thou speakest truly. Thou hast a lover now, and before 
the night passes thou shalt see him. 

Violet. 
Shall I ? 

27 



The Merchant Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

He '11 be weary from his travels, and to-day, no doubt, 
will require rest; but he'll meet thee to-night at the masked 
ball. Come, then, to the villa, so that to-night thou mayst 
appear refreshed. 

Violet. 
I 'm not weary. Oh, that sweet, sweet tree ! 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Why, what 's in that tree ? 'T is but an orchard tree. 

Violet. 
I '11 wager thee, 't will bear sweet fruit. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Why, what a fever thou art in ! 

Violet. 

I 'm not in a fever. A child that never ventured in the 
fields may know a blossom when it sees it. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Come, thy maid, Ninon, has risen, and awaits thee. 
Thy feet are damp with morning dew from the grass. 

28 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 
The dew of love is in my heart ; and that 's not damp. 

NORTHLAKE. 

This comes of teaching thee, from childhood, philosophy 
in my melancholy moods. I '11 never again teach thee 
philosophy, though I be as melancholy as Democritus, since 
thou dost use the philosophy I teach thee against thine uncle 
and teacher, instead of against the world. 

Violet. 

For the good philosophy thou didst teach me, I '11 love 
thee all my days. But, uncle, is this marriage good? 'Twere 
not good, 't were not philosophical. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Alas, dear Violet ! \_Aside'] If she but knew ! \_Jloud'] 
I cannot give thee thy dues except by this marriage. Thou 
wast my favorite sister's only child ; and when she left thee 
and thy fortune to my guardianship, I promised to protect 
thy fortune, and watch over thee even as my own daughter. 
Now I will get thee a good husband ; for he 's rich, and a 
solid gentleman. 

Violet. 

Who 's a solid gentleman ? 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Why, the Honorable Hercules Whetstone. 

29 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet. 
Oh, puzzle thy Whetstone ! 

NORTHLAKE. 

I fear thou 'It puzzle him, Violet. But never mind ; 
come, come now. 

Violet. 

Oh, thou sweet tree ; I cannot leave thee ! 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Why, there must be some witchery in that tree ! I '11 
have it cut down and burnt. 

Violet. 

Nay, good uncle, thou wouldst not have the tree cut 
down. 'T is a good and thrifty tree that never did harm to 
any one, and therefore I love the tree. \_Takes his arm.~\ 
Dear uncle, do not cut it down. Thou art a good, dear 
uncle, and I will go with thee ; and thou wilt let the tree 
live. 

Northlake \_ going]. 

Well, then, come, come ! I '11 let the tree live. 

\_Exeunt. 



3° 



of Cornville. 

Scene II. — J pavilion^ with vieiu of the sea. Forenoon. 

Enter Whetstone, Bluegrass, and Scythe. 

Scythe. 

Who knows but, in the chemistry of Heaven, we, this 
noble race of men, are but parasites feeding in space upon 
a crust of earth encompassing a fiery particle ! 

Bluegrass. 

What a glorious thing is one of our ordinary mundane 
cycles of time ! 'Tis only a dav ; and yet it is a legacy too 
great for the richest man to put in his will. Let no one 
be so brazen as to attempt to belittle this magnificent star 
of ours. 

Whetstone. 

Hold ! Professor Scythe, is that the so-called sea ? 

Scythe ^examining it zvith his glass'\ . 

Yonder liquid and corrugated mass is the rumpled out- 
skirts of the sea. In our scientific formula, it is the correla- 
tion of a mighty power. 

Whetstone \taking glass and examining"] . 
I can believe you. 

3' 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 

Hercules Whetstone, patron of the arts and sciences, 
founder and president of the Cornville Academy as a pay- 
ing investment, and nourisher of its infant civilization, pro- 
prietor of the Cornville Eagle — 

Whetstone. 

One moment, Major Bluegrass : that will do for the 
home market, but not among strangers. I 've given you 
both a summer vacation, so that you may enjoy yourselves, 
and work harder when you return. Now, look around, 
store up knowledge, and — I won't deduct the time from 
your salaries. That 's business. But you must be more 
particular about my titles. Always speak of me to stran- 
gers as the Honorable Mayor Hercules Whetstone, the 
Merchant Prince of Cornville, near the capital of Illinois, — 
called Hercules after his grand-uncle Hercules, who drove 
the Indians down the Mississippi. Do you follow me ? 

Bluegrass, Scythe. 
We do. 

Bluegrass. 

Oh, why was I so long pent up in the heart of a cor.- 
tinent ? 1 can remain on land no longer. 

Scythe Ttaking out his note-book and writing^ . 

Item, — this is important. Major Bluegrass, long pent 
up in the heart of the American continent, upon his first 

M 



of Cornville. 

sight of the sea wishes to swim. This is of great scientific 
value, as it shows the recurrence, after long deprivation, of 
an inherited pre-Adamite instinct ; for we read that Adam 
walked, but never that he swam, therefore are we driven 
to the waters for evidence. It proves the origin of man 
from the oyster, or some more ancient inhabitant of the sea. 

Bluegrass. 

I am no fish, nor ever was. I 'd rather spring from a 
rainbow than a pond. 

Scythe. 

A pond is your rainbow come to earth. 

Bluegrass. 
I must swim. Oh, Mayor Whetstone, let us all swim ! 

Scythe \iuriting in his note-book'\. 

The pre-Adamite instinct in the presence of its primary 
environment manifests increasing ratio. 

Bluegrass. 

Professor, take your increasing ratio and slide down to 
the imponderable roots of the sea. I must get out of this 
prison of clothes, and into the water. 

Whetstone. 

Major, try to feel comfortable with your clothes on, for 
you 'd soon be imprisoned without them. 

3 33 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 

No dungeon of clothes can hold me ! What a lofty 
repose comes over me as I survey yon glittering expanse 
of water, like a blue field of undulating velvet! A tear of 
joy I give to thee, O mighty sea ! 

Scythe [writing i?i his note-book~\ . 

Item, — he returns a saline tear to the sea, in memory 

of his pre-Adamite ancestor. This is the pre-Raphaelism 

of natural selection. 

Whetstone. 

You are my scientist, my threefold Professor of three 

chairs, — natural science, hygiene, and agriculture, — in my 

Cornville Academy. Now, to create a money-making 

hunger for science at the Academy we must popularize it. 

Therefore, give me the scientific facts about the sea in a 

popular sort of way, so that all may understand and enjoy 

them. 

Scythe. 

Its remote abysses are inhabited by the mammoths of 
natural history and evolutionary philosophy ; and vast herds 
of sea-cattle graze upon its marine meadows, like buffaloes 
upon the prairies. In fact, our prairies were once the bottom 
of the sea, and the buffaloes were supposed to have been left 
when the waters receded. 

Bluegrass. 

Your marine buffaloes must wear anchors around their 
necks, instead of cow-bells, 

34 



of Cornville. 

Scythe. 

Not so. Nature always provides for her creatures; for, 
as birds soaring above the mountain-tops have great wings 
of feathers, so, on the other hand, these cattle have immense 
hoofs, of a substance resembling lead, but much heavier than 
the lead of commerce. 

Whetstone. 

That adds to their commercial value. Major Bluegrass, 
you 're my private secretary, and editor of my Cornville 
Eagle : what do you know about the sea ? 

Bluegrass. 

I only know what I want to see : I want to see the sport 
the mermaids see down in their prismatic sea homes, drink- 
ing out of beautiful sea-shells, while pearls drop at their 
iridescent feet. Oh, Hercules Whetstone, you are rich ! 
Get me a diving-bell. I'll interview the mermaids for the 
benefit of the Eagle, scoop our rival, the Hawkeye Observer, 
and send up the Eagle's circulation ten thousand. 

Whetstone. 

Blue thunder, Major, be calm ! Ever since we arrived 
here you 've been as excited as if you expected to see a 
drove of fairies and hobgoblins jump out of every bush and 
dance in the air. 

Scythe. 

He may have caught the infection of the season : for it is 
now the so-called fairies' season of drolleries and bewitch- 

35 



The Merchant Prince 

ments. It was a delusion of the ancients, and yet it had 
some scientific basis, — for science shows that this full sum- 
mer tide heightens and ripens the natural dispositions of 
men, so that what is most natural in them often seems most 
strange. 

Whetstone. 
Professor, examine his hygiene, and see if he needs any 
medicine. 

Scythe ^feeling his pulse] . 

What 's this ? Whv, this pulse beneath my finger is 
the alarm-bell of a disordered system ! Open wide your 
eyes. \_Looking into his eye.] What a distended foresight 
have we here! The pupil of the eve is dilated like an 
owl's. 

Bluegrass. 

The owl stands for wisdom. 

Scythe. 

Silence ! Hold out your tongue ! [He opens his mouth.] 
It has an overcoat with a high color. [Taking out a ther- 
mometer.'] The temperature is seventy-two outside [taking 
the temperature under his tongue]., and inside, under the shade 
of the tongue, it is ninety-nine and nine-tenths. Whv, we 
are approaching spontaneous combustion ! [Feeling his fore- 
head.] And your forehead is as hot as a volcano. Mayor 
Whetstone, you may in a few hours lose your private 
secretary. 

36 



of Cornville. 

Whetstone. 

1 cannot afford to lose him yet 5 save him, Professor, 

save him ! 

Scythe. 

I will obey. The unimpeachable symptoms indicate 
hypothetical impoverishment of the blood, complicated by a 
highly inflamed excitation of the nerve-tissues. We must 
at once build up an iron constitution. 

Whetstone. 

Build him up, Professor, he 's too sensitive ; make an 
ironclad man of him, like myself. Give him ribs of iron. 

Scythe ^presenting Huo pills']. 

Here are two pills of Iron. I 'm an Eclectic. This in 
my right hand is the mammoth shell of the Allopathic 
school, and this in my left, balanced upon a point of my 
little finger, and no larger than a solitary grain of mustard- 
seed, is a fine shot of the Homoeopathic school. 

Bluegrass. 

I don't choose either of your schools. I belong to the 
Hydropathic school. 

Whetstone. 

He who will not swallow a school of medicine to save 
his life, must be made to do so. Here, Professor, while I 
hold him, give him a schooling. 

\They try to give Bluegrass an iron pill. 

37 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 

Friends, have you no philopena ? Give me no pill of 
iron. May you ne'er sleep with down within your pillow ! 
Oh! put me in a pillory, but put no pill in me. Oh ! [T^hey 
succeed in giving him a pill.~\ I 'm pilled ; the iron has 
entered my system ; how very hard I '11 soon lie down 
upon my little pillow. And thou, hard Whetstone, thus 
to sharpen Scythe to mow me down ! Caesar was stabbed 
by the iron daggers of the conspirators, but I am slugged 
by an iron bolus from the hands of my friends. This is 
ironical. Alas ! I am a pundit ; for as a typical represent- 
ative of the pun, e'en while the iron was in my heart I have 
doubly punn'd it. 

Scythe. 

The iron that enters your blood gives life, not death. Thus 
does modern science show her supremacy over ancient 
passion. 

Bluegrass. 

You speak well. I 'm better now. I acquit you both, 
and greet you as my friends. [They all shake hands.'\ What 
a weird place for a marine poem ! Would that a seamaid 
I might be made to see ! 

Whetstone. 
Hold on ; I have it. 

Scythe. 
What ? 

Whetstone. 

Sea-cattle, Professor : they live ? 

38 



of Cornville. 

Scythe. 
Most profoundly ! Among wild cattle are the sea-lion, 
sea-elephant, sea-unicorn — 

Whetstone. 

Stop! We must get a so-called unicorn for the Cornville 
Aquarium. 

Scythe. 

Among domestic cattle, vast droves of sea-pigs — in our 
inland nomenclature called porpoises — appear upon its sur- 
face when the sea boils, before a storm ; and sea-calves, 
sea-cows, and sea-oxen roam its salt sea pastures. 

Bluegrass. 
This is the romance of science. 

Whetstone. 
We must land them ! 

Scythe. 

What do you purpose to do with the porpoises and other 
sea-cattle ? 

Whetstone. 

How little you know of the grand possibilities of busi- 
ness ! Why, I '11 build up a new industry on these shores. 
I am the Merchant Prince of Cornville. Here I '11 be a 
sea-cattle king ; I '11 make a fresh fortune in my gigantic 
monster emporium for salted sea-cattle. And now to the 
Dolphin Inn, where 1 'm to meet Northlake. Then for 
business by the sea. [^Exeunt, 

39 



The Merchant Prince 
Act the Second. 

Scene I. — On the seashore. Afternoon. 
Enter Whetstone, Bluegrass, and Scythe. 

Whetstone. 

Well, boys, I 've seen Northlake, and we 've all had a 
good dinner. A good dinner is also a good romance. 
Never despise money. Do you follow me ? 

Bluegrass, Scythe. 
We do. 

Whetstone. 

Then let us come to business at once, I 've brought 
you out here to have a consultation, and to get your opinion 
on certain things, each in his own department of learning, 
according to the salaries I pay you. I 've arranged to do a 
fine piece of business. I 'm a man of business, and I 'm a 
man in love. I 'm in love with my business, and I '11 make 
a business of my love. Professor, how should a man dress 
to be a so-called lover ? 

Scythe. 

That depends ; but this is true : He that loves is like a 
traveller between the north and south poles, and he will need 
different suits of clothing, and philosophy. 

40 



of Cornville. 

Bluegrass. 
What an explanation ! \Jaughing~^ ha— ha— ha ! 

Whetstone. 
Professor, what is the laugh ? 

Scythe. 

My analysis of the laugh is not yet completed, and I am 
now seeking to produce the missing link. However, the 
juxtaposition of two incongruous yet contemporaneous images 
in the mind is simultaneous with contrasting and varying 
pressures upon the electrically charged nerves. These vary- 
ing pressures by reflex action cause the pleasurable action of 
the muscles called the laugh. Let me illustrate. By varying 
and alternating pressures upon the electrically charged nerves 
of the eye there is presented to the mind the image of a 
lover caressing a maiden ; and just beyond, the one view 
overlapping the other, we see a donkey eating the lover's 
bouquet, and then ^laughing~\ ha— ha— ha ! 

Bluegrass. 

The donkey took the bouquet for an offering of beau's 
hay. 

Whetstone. 

Be silent. No trifling with science ! Professor, analyze 
me Violet. 

41 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 
I know ! I 'm at home in colors. 

Whetstone. 
Attention ! We 're now in science. 

Scythe. 

The flower violet is the only organic substance in which 
science has discovered a trace of gold. 

Whetstone. 

Gold and Violet found together, — good ! Why, science is 
a fortune-teller. Go on ! 

Scythe. 

It is the most refrangible of the seven primary colors of 
the solar spectrum. 

Whetstone. 
What 's refrangible ? 

Bluegrass. 
I know ! 

Whetstone. 
Steady there, Bluegrass ! 

42 



of Cornville. 

Scythe. 

Let me illustrate. You discover by a violet light a beau- 
tiful fish in the water, and you vi^ish to catch it. Now, 
you must throw your hook, dart, or net, not directly at it, 
but a considerable space this side, according to the depth. 

Whetstone. 

That 's fishing under difficulties. Do you mean to say 
that a man can't see straight in a violet light ? 

Bluegrass. 
I know 1 let me explain. 

Whetstone. 
Listen to the Professor ! 

Scythe. 

Violet light passing from one medium into another of a 
different density becomes most refractory, and turned out of 
a direct course at an angle : in other words, you must angle 
for your fish. See my Tables on Molecular Structure, 
Density, etc., determined by angles of refraction. 

Whetstone. 

So if I get the hang of the angles and depth, I 'm all right, 
am I ? 

43 



The Merchant Prince 

Scythe. 
In a scientific sense, you are. 

Whetstone. 

Oh, ho ! then I 'm pretty well posted on Violet. Now 
for the next point : Professor, what Is love ? 

Scythe. 

With the passionless precision of science, I say unto you. 
Mayor Whetstone, though she you love is the most sym- 
metrical duplex pyramidal aggregation of atoms in the human 
saccharine conglomeration, shun love, and court science ; for 
by spectroscopic analysis of the light proceeding from the 
eyes of jealous lovers, I have seen their spleen turning a dark 
green. 

Whetstone. 

I did n't know it was so bad as that ! Major, how do you 
regard love, from the heights of romance ? 

Bluegrass. 
A region of enchantment. 

Whetstone. 

Yonder valley with verdure clothed would be a capital 
place for my emporium for porpoises, or so-called sea-pigs. 

Bluegrass. 
I implore you. Mayor Whetstone, do not project across 

44 



of Cornville. 

my mental line of sight that animal, either in its terrestrial or 
marine form. 

Whetstone. 

He fills his destiny to the full ; and besides, he is the most 
intelligent of animals. It is a historical fact that he was 
taught to play whist fifty years before the clever dog. 

Bluegrass. 

He jars on the landscape, and is a discord amidst the dulcet 
harmony of the waves. 

Whetstone. 

What would you have ? The good pig eats all he can 
while he can ; therefore he eats like a pig. Major Bluegrass, 
let me hear no more of your disparaging comments on the 
honest and assiduous pig, — the most useful and business-like 
of all our domestic animals. He can nobly hold up his 
head and represent corn converted. And while he turns the 
cornfields into bank-notes, shall we blame him if he does 
not serenade us with the notes of a silver flute ? 

Scythe. 

I wish to make a moral observation upon a physical basis: 
Major, if the formula of your destiny were Identical with the 
pig's, you would give rise to more discordant vocalization 
than even that disgruntled animal. 

45 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 

He may be the most useful animal upon this magnificent 
star of ours ; but though his good points were as many as his 
bristles, they could not excuse his shortcomings. The lim- 
ited geographical prospects of his pen should make him 
deeply contemplative of the stars ; instead of which he roots 
deeply in the earth. Hence he takes a step backwards, and, 
instead of increasing his wit, he increases only his weight. 

Scythe. 

Man is like a reversed vegetable that has swallowed its 
roots and walked off on its branches. Why, what is that at 
my feet ? Let me pick it up tenderly. Hurrah ! I 've got a 
geologic pebble ! See, Mayor Whetstone, what a rare, 
grand specimen for the prehistoric museum of the Cornville 
Academy ! 

Whetstone. 

What 's it worth ? 

Scythe. 

Worth ! Mercenary man ! Let us reverently take off 
our hats in its presence. It 's worth more than all the prop- 
erty in Cornville. See, Major, see ! 

Bluegrass. 

Put it in your pocket, or some one will claim it. 

46 



of Cornville. 

Scythe. 

Unfeeling man ! No one shall claim it. You saw me 
pick it up. You are my witnesses. 

Bluegrass. 
To what geologic family does it belong ? 

Scythe. 

It is a genuine relic of the cosmic dust. Hurrah ! I 've 
got a geologic pebble ! See the fluted sheets of color per- 
vading its interior ! It must have been suspended in the pre- 
Adamite fires for ages. Gentlemen, remember you have 
seen no meteors in the sky. 

[Taking out his note-book and writing. 

Enter Small Boy, crying. 

Boy. 
Give me my marble ! 

Scythe. 

Why, boy, this is no marble. 'T is a very rare specimen 
of the dewdrop form of crystallization, precipitated during the 
prevalence of the primeval sand-storms, formed by the cooling 
of the stony vapors. 

Boy. 
Give me my marble, or I '11 call my mother ! 

47 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 

Professor, you may have picked up the wrong specimen. 

Scythe. 

There can be no mistake. Let me examine it with my 
microscope. ^Examining it.~\ I clearly recognize the uni- 
formity of its circular strata of color, which could be formed 
only as it revolved on its own incandescent axis in super- 
heated fires. Boy, look through this glass, and then see if 
you have the youthful cheek to say it is — I tremble to say it 
— your marble. 

Boy Hooking at it through the glass~^ . 

That 's my colored marble ; I was playing with it. [To 
Whetstone atid Bluegrass.] Make him give it back to 
me, won't you ? It has a nick and the first letter of my 
name on it. 

Scythe '^surprised/y^ re-examining ?V] . 

Why, boy, I cannot afford an unscientific controversy with 
you or your mother. Alas ! take it. \_Giving marble to the 
Boy.] And when again you play with it, remember — \^Exit 
Boy, hastily. ~\ Thus do my hopes of a pre-Adamite museum 
wither. It was a unique specimen of the circular group of 
crystallization dreamed of by science, but hitherto undis- 
covered. Major, here comes your seamaid. 

48 



of Cornville. 

Enter Catharine in disguise^ with a basket of fish. 
Catharine. 

Good afternoon, gentlemen landsmen ! I have fish in my 
basket ; will you buy ? I have your fortunes in my keeping ; 
will you have them ? 

Bluegrass. 

I salute you, by the sea, as a near relative in the fields of 
romance to the milking-maid of our inland pastures. 

Catharine. 
I take you to be landsmen, and, therefore, good fresh 
men. I am a fortune-teller with varied fortunes. Each 
summer, for a month, to these shores I come to renew and 
perfect the spirit's vision, which, even like natural sight, is 
cleared by good free air and sunshine ; and as men with 
glasses have seen ten hundred living things upon a pin's point, 
so I, with spiritual lenses, have seen the past, present, and 
future, each in proper order, marshalled upon a space no 
larger than a spectacle glass. 

Whetstone. 
Pardon me, — your name and home ? 

Catharine. 

My name is Catharine, and my home is wherever I am. 
I come from the city, where there are more sharks in one 
day than you will see here in a year, and where people in 

4 49 



The Merchant Prince 

despair come to me for the fortune fate has denied them. 
I am more pitiful than fate ; and their pleased looks give me 
a joy greater than does their pittance. Hence, poor souls, I 
give them precious pictures of future good, which, believing 
in, they achieve, and thus their griefs assuage. 

Bluegrass. 
We all, to-day, bear our fortunes lightly. 

Catharine. 

And may you at nightfall bear them as lightly ! Fine 
w^eather makes quick friends. Come, then, gentlemen, will 
you buy ? Each one in his own humor. If there be a true 
merchant among you, I will tempt him with the fish's 
weight ; if there be a moralist, with the fish's moral ; if 
there be a scientist, with the fish's complicated structure ; 
if there be a poet, with the fish's most poetical history ; if 
there be a gourmand, with the fish's flavor. Each one shall 
see in the fish he buys, his own humor. He shall have 
both weight and moral ; for a good moral without weight is 
immoral, and a good weight without a good moral is a dull 
measure. You shall pay me for the weight, for that the 
fish had in the sea ; but for the moral, that is in my humor, 
and gain has taken a vacation. Every one has his pastime, 
and no one is so poor but he has his humor. Mine is to see 
men buy a fish, each in his own humor ; for by the fish's 
scales will I weigh him. 

50 



of Cornville. 

Scythe. 
How came your hair so white at your age ? 

Catharine. 

With losing of my husband, and giving of good fortunes. 
But come, gentlemen ; fair weather makes quick friends, but 
unfair questions, like unfair weather, part them. Will you 
buy ? 

Bluegrass. 

Let us buy. 

Whetstone. 
Let us first learn the price of the fish. 

Bluegrass. 

It sounds to me like a romance. Come, let us all sit here 
in pleasant converse ; the night is afar, and while we buy 
we '11 enjoy the aroma of the salt-sea zephyrs blown from 
off the invisible flower-beds of the sea. 

Whetstone. 
Stop your perpetual romance ! 

Bluegrass. 

Romance that is not perpetual, but goes by fits and starts, 
is not worth the reality it feeds upon. 

51 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 

I 'd put the price on everything, — trees, fences, houses, 

the baby's rattle, and in its first primer a price-list of its 

expenses. 

Bluegrass. 

Hercules Whetstone, Mayor of Cornville, there are some 
things upon this magnificent star of ours that are not 
in the market, — things so high that you cannot reach and 
put a price upon them in the cold-blooded shambles of 
merchandise. 

Whetstone. 

There you go again, trying to throw star-dust in your 
benefactor's eyes. Oh, why did I make you editor of my 
Cornville Eagle ? 

Bluegrass. 

Because your Eagle was asleep, and I was the only one 

who could wake him up and make him soar into a higher 

circulation. He looked like a whipped buzzard that had 

dulled his talons upon old newspapers ; but I put new life 

into him ; and now that I have made you the proprietor of a 

newspaper which is a household word, and which will be in 

every scholar's library at the close of human learning, you 

scofF at me. Such is glory in a commercial age ! Columbus 

may discover, but the merchant Americus gives his name to 

two continents. 

Scythe. 

Good woman, some undesirable chemical change may take 

52 



of Cornville. 

place in your fish. I would advise you to put some salt on 
them. I am a chemist. 

Catharine. 
The fish are dead ; they cannot hear. 

Scythe. 
Mayor Whetstone, why do you not change the Eagle to 
the Hawkeye Review of Western Science ? 

Bluegrass. 
Strip that proud bird of his plumage, and in less than seven 
revolutions of this magnificent star of ours he will have 
fewer followers than a vanquished rooster. 

Whetstone. 
Major, I cannot resist you. You are my true, my great 
and only editor. Give me your hand ; let us be friends. 

Bluegrass. 

Now let us go on with our romance. [To Catharine.] 
Bring on your fish ! 

Catharine. 

There are as queer fish inside as outside the basket, I '11 
warrant you. \_Sbe presents the basket to Whetstone ; he 
selects a codfish^ That is a fish in weight and look of much 
import, — the codfish. He is an aristocrat among the shoals 
and schools, and he has done much to build up our own 

53 



The Merchant Prince 

aristocracy. \_She presents the basket to Scythe, and he selects 
a Holothurian.'] 

Scythe. 

Why, madam, this is a rare fish, a Holothurian, vulgarly 
called a sea-cucumber, from its resemblance to that common 
garden vegetable. I '11 mount its skeleton at once. It is the 
fish of science, and has the power of analysis ; for 't is written 
that when attacked, for self-protection it will divide itself into 
many pieces, or turn itself inside out. 

She presents the basket to Bluegrass, and he selects a Jiying-jish. 

Bluegrass. 
How beautiful ! 

Catharine. 

Yes, 't is a flying-fish, which, rising above the heavy and 
obscurer element of its kind, and using its fins as wings, in 
aerial courses, sparkling like a jewel, beholds the glittering and 
sunlit scenery of the upper air. There is much similarity 
between these excursions and the poet's fancies. And as 
these lower creatures in their airy flights excite the wonder- 
ment of fishes and please men, so may human excursions in 
the higher element of fancy excite the wonderment of men 
and please the gods. 

Bluegrass [/« adm'irationX . 

Madam, consider yourself engaged as sea-side corres- 
pondent of the Cornville Eagle : topic, sea-fish and their 

54 



of Cornville. 

morals. Please accept my card, and draw upon me for a 
month's salary. ^Gives his card. 

Scythe [writing in his note-book~\ . 

Item, — this is important. In evolution, the grasshoppel 
sprang from the flying-fish. 

Whetstone. 

What birds are those flying above the weaves and darting 
like flying squirrels ? 

Catharine, 

They are the larks of the sea, and in the wake of a ship 
are wider awake than your land larks. 

Bluegrass. 

Madam, with your permission, — upon the first streak of 
dawn our common meadow-lark has been known to climb 
the heavenly vaults above this magnificent star of ours like 
a morning-glory of song. 

Whetstone. 
Professor Scythe, explain. 

Scythe [examining the birds tuith his glass"]. 

Leaving, for a rr oment, grave mysteries of the deep upon 
the floor of the abysmal sea, we ascend to trace in the flight 
of a simple bird its name and family. The wings of the bird 

55 



The Merchant Prince 

are the pre-Adamite forefeet of an animal which, through 
ceaseless efforts of evolution, became crowned with feathers. 
From the movements of these feathered forefeet we can tell 
all about the bird. Now, Mayor Whetstone, take this glass. 
^He gives glass to ^HETSTO'iiE^ who follows the movements of 
the bird with //.] Now watch closely the parabola of dip or 
curve of flight that puts it in the great family of web-footed 
water-fowls. See the unwavering scoop, the practiced and 
web-footed ease with which it grazes a wave. We have 
before us a genuine sea-gull. 

Whetstone. 
Major, put that in the Eagle, and see how it looks in print. 
Something 's bitten me ! it must be one of your sea-fleas. 

[Looking up his sleeve. 

Bluegrass. 
Sea-flea ; do you see it ? 

Catharine. 

To see a flea, you must flee the sea, — unless perchance 
you may see a deep-sea flea such as I have at the bottom of 
my basket. [Takes out a lobster.'] This is the wicked flea 
the fisherman pursues. He will give a biting relish to your 
codfish. [Q^rj lobster to Whetstone, who draws back. 

Whetstone. 
Is he dead ? 

56 



of Cornville. 

Catharine. 
Such is his seeming. 

Whetstone. 
What a monster ! [^Observing the lobster.'] Professor, 
what 's his scientific history ? 

Scythe [weariedly'\. 
I don't know. 

Whetstone. 

Don't know ! Professor, it cost me a heap of money to 
build my nursery of learning, the Cornville Academy, and 
I 'm going to make it the biggest paying institution on this 
broad continent. I 've advertised you in letters big as fence- 
posts as our own prided prince of science, engaged at an 
enormous salary. There are already applications for next 
term from over five hundred anxious fathers of wonderful 
sons. Can I afford to disappoint them ? No. Can you 
stand there and calmly tell me you cannot give me so simple 
a thing as the history of a deep-sea flea ? 

Scythe [^looking at lobster luith his glassl. 

In the race for life, he first made his appearance in the 
epoch of the mammoth, anterior to the gigantic antediluvians, 
before the apparition of man upon the earth, and at a season 
in the progressive series of pre-Adamite evolution soon after 
the separation of the crocodile branch from the main stem, 
about forty-five millions of years ago. 

57 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 
Astonishing ! so long as that ? 

Scythe. 

I will not in detail give his scientific biography. It is 
sufficient that during this period he gorged himself with the 
blood of these primeval mammoths, which accounts for his 
size, and often, frenzied by the harrowing appetite of this 
parasite, these gigantic and prehistoric brutes made the pri- 
meval forests for a hundred miles ring with their helpless bel- 
lowings. But I will not further excite your pity for the 

remote ages. 

Whetstone. 

Go on. Professor, go on ! 

Scythe. 
This was the summer of his race ; but, alas ! then came 
the glacial period. He was frozen up with the mammoths, and 
remained so for probably twenty millions of years ; but such 
was his tenacity of life, that when the world thawed out, he 
again appeared, his skin somewhat hardened by exposure, — 
a fact which you will recognize, — but otherwise cheerful, 
and in his usual health. Well may his kind be grateful ; 
for, wrapped in ice for aeons of time, he was the slender 
thread upon which their future hung. 

Whetstone. 
But why did he take to the sea ? 

58 



of Cornville. 

Scythe. 
After the apparition of man upon the earth he was driven 
into the sea by the excited inhabitants. 

Whetstone. 
Major, this is truly wonderful. The Academy will 
succeed. 

Bluegrass. 

'T is the very romance of science. 

Whetstone. 
But, Professor, what was the glacial period ? 

Scythe. 

Well, sir, the glacial period was an epoch when, from a 
business point of view, ice was cheaper than dirt. Had the 
apparition then occurred, man could have gone all over the 
globe on skates. But as it was a vast ball of ice, he would 
probably have slipped off into space, and nothing more would 
have been heard of him. And so this star of ice for count- 
less ages rolled on through the sky like a big snow-ball ; but 
at last the great electric sun struck the earth on the equator, 
which accounts for the equatorial bulge which exists to this 
day. Then commenced the greatest drama of the elements 
ever witnessed upon our planet. The vast ice-fields were 
riven in twain, with terrific reports which reverberated through 
the heavenly spaces, and to which our present thunder is but 
as an elemental whisper. Icebergs formed, and in fantastic 

59 



The Merchant Prince 

and sublime shapes, towering mountain high and illuminated 
by the sun, floated down towards the equator. 

Whetstone. 
Go on, don't stop j go on. 

Scythe. 
Then commenced the great oscillation of the land-masses; 
then the eruptive rocks and sedimentary strata were moved 
from their foundations. Then occurred the geologic epoch 
of the denudation and washdown of hills and mountains, and 
then were formed the ocean floors, the islands, and the con- 
tinental areas which we inhabit. 

Whetstone. 
Put that in the Eagle. \The lobster clings to h'im.~\ Hello ! 
What 's the matter now ? Professor ! Major ! Woman ! 
Take off^ your flea ! 

Bluegrass. 
Be a hero ! 

Whetstone. 
Great thunder ! take him off. He has claws to his eyes. 
\T'akes off his coat^ with the lobster clinging to zV.] Major, 
this is your fault. Don't speak to me again until you apolo- 
gize. Come, Professor. 

\Exeunt Scythe and Whetstone carrying his coat with 
lobster clinging to it. 

60 



of Cornville. 

Catharine. 

Fair is your prairie wit, and tiiese sea-scenes have keen 

spices which well try its mettle. He that is young and fresh 

shall have the salt of experience. Many that come here to 

be salted by the sea are seasoned by love. Would you be 

so seasoned ? 

Bluegrass. 

If it be a fair, good seasoning. 

Catharine. 

At yonder villa by the sea I well know Mademoiselle 
Ninon, a French maid who is in friendly service to one 
Violet. She has a dainty wit, with a foreign flavor that will 
season you well. 

Bluegrass. 
Acquaint us. I would be so seasoned. 

Catharine. 
To-day she comes that I may tell her fortune. Be at the 
masquerade to-night; wear a blue ribbon, — there you shall 
meet her. Trust me. Fare thee well. 

l_Exit Catharine. 

Bluegrass. 

This is genuine romance. 'T is sweeter than ambrosia. 
Oh, why was I so long pent up in the heart of a continent ? 

6i 



The Merchant Prince 

Farewell, dull facts of business which have stung me sharper 
than thistles. Roll on, magnificent star, and bring night 
and romance. \_Exit. 



Scene II. — Portico of the Dolphin Inn. 
Enter Whetstone and Bluegrass in co?iversation. 

Whetstone. 

Northlake is a most melancholy man. I believe if he 
had a warehouse full of anchors, and the market for anchors 
was booming, he 'd be hopelessly unhappy. Said I to him, 
to-day: Northlake, don't look so confoundedly gloomy ; cheer 
up ! the day I marry your niece Violet, you shall have five 
hundred thousand dollars. 

Bluegrass. 
His villa looks Uke the residence of a prince. 

Whetstone. 

So it does ; but it is covered with a mortgage from cellar 
to roof. One month ago Northlake was a rich man, but, 
leaving his books and plunging into speculation, he lost not 
only his fortune, but also that of his niece Violet, who is 
an orphan, and whose fortune was intrusted to his keeping. 
Her loss seems to trouble him most. 

62 



of Cornville. 

Bluegrass. 
When did you become acquainted with him ? 

Whetstone. 

Last summer, when they were travelling in the West. 
I had some business with him, and I then got a glance at 
his niece. I have since corresponded with him. When I 
met him to-day he had a book in his hand. I asked him, 
What 's that book ? He replied, It 's a work on speculative 
philosophy. Said I, Throw it away, and study the market 
quotations and crops ; that 's the kind of speculative philoso- 
phy you need. 

Bluegrass. 
What did he say to that ? 

Whetstone. 

He opened his book and commenced reading. Said I : 
Close your book. I don't understand it, and I don't want 
to. I 've made you a business proposition that 's worth more 
than all your books. I 've got the booty, and you 've got 
the beauty. Is it a trade ? 

Enter Punch, who tries to overhear the conversation. 

Bluegrass. 
How did that impress him ? 

63 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 

He replied, You shall have her, but you must first woo 
her as a tender and gallant lover should, and thus w^in also 
her dower of tenderness and fancy. 

Bluegrass. 
How did that strike you ? 

Whetstone. 

Oh, said I, I '11 show my good points. I 'm rich, noble, 
and good ; she '11 have me. 

Bluegrass. 
How did that affect him ? 

Whetstone. 

Come, Whetstone, said he, you 're a practical man. The 
most practical man in love is the most fanciful. Come to 
the masquerade to-night in a heroic character. — And I 'm 
going. 

Bluegrass. 

What kind of a hero will you assume to be ? 

Whetstone. 

Oh, any kind, just so it 's a hero. I can outdo any of 
them. 

64 



of Cornville. 

Bluegrass [^perceiving Punch]. 

Hello ! my friend, can you tell us where to get masquer- 
ade suits ? 

Punch. 

Yonder, gentlemens. [Pointing to a neighboring ihopP^ 
i recommends him. He is a good neighbor and an honest 
man. Good day, gentlemens. 

[Punch dips into his shop by a side door. 

Whetstone [reading the sign over the door^. 

Peter Punch. Masquerade Suits and Unk-Weed Lini- 
ment. For sale or rent. — That 's a queer sign ! 

Bluegrass. 
They are well suited ; for the liniment is a lining under the 
suits. [They enter the shop by front door. 



Scene HI. — A costumer's shop. Punch arranging his 
costumes. 

Enter Whetstone and Bluegrass. 

Punch. 
Walk into mine shop, gentlemens. You do me great 
honors. 

Whetstone. 

Are you not the same man we met outside } 
5 65 



The Merchant Prince 

Punch. 
Did he say I was honest ? 

Whetstone. 

You have it. 

Punch. 

Mine good friends, that was mine brother. 

Whetstone. 
Why, you have the same marks. What are you up to ? 

Punch. 

Mine friend, we were born twins ; our own father could n't 
tell us apart. 

Bluegrass. 

Nature must have been in a proud mood when she dupli- 
cated you. 

Whetstone. 
What 's your name ? 

Punch. 
Peter Punch. 

Whetstone. 
What 's your brother's name ? 

Punch. 

Peter Punch Number Two. We are twins ; I swears it. 
Mine friends, these are my beautiful suits j and in this bottle 

66 



of Cornville. 

is the wonder of seven hemispheres, the sublimely famous 
and justly celebrated unk-weed liniment. By your firesides, 
rub it in well. With one wing of medicinal gum, and the 
other of healing balsam, it flies to its proud home in the 
bones. Gentlemens, rub it in well. There it works its 
marvels. This, gentlemens, is the unk-weed art gallery 
rpointifig to two pictures^. This one is before taking ; that 
one, after taking. Gentlemens, rub it on your skins inside, 
and put one of my suits on the outside, and then you do 
marvels. I swears it. 

Whetstone. 

Which do you sell or rent, — the suits, or the liniment? 
[Punch winks an eye.'] Why do you wink? 

Punch. 

Goodness gracious ! you surprises me so. Mine eyelid slips 
down. Gentlemens, I cannot rent the wonderful unk-weed. 

Bluegrass. 

Peter Punch, you are a compound fraction. Give vour 
doctor fraction a quick drop, and your tailor fraction a fresh 
seaming. We have good sound characters, but you and your 
tailor's goose may mend them. I wish to cast upon a French 
maid a romantic spell, something in the aurora borealis fashion. 

Punch. 
Gentlemens, I have n't got it \winking his eye\ 

67 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 
Why do you wink ? 

Punch. 
Mine friend, it is my little weakness. I swears it. 

Bluegrass. 

Try to keep your blind up. It makes me suspicious that 
something wrong is going on inside. Peter, have you a rain- 
bow suit ? 

Punch. 

Mine dear friend, I 've just what will suit you. I made it 
for a gentlemans just like you, but it rained and he did n't 
call for it. 

Bluegrass. 

He was only a fair-weather beau ; but T '11 be a rainbow 
as well. [Punch shows him the i«/V.] That will suit. Now 
show me a mask. [Punch shows him a mask.'] Why, it has 
a nose upon it like a barn-gable. 

Punch. 

Mine friend, a big nose makes a strong character {^laying 
his finger along his nose"] . 

Bluegrass. 

Its cheeks are smooth as a boy*s. 

68 



of Cornville. 

Punch. 

Mine friend, how would a rainbow look with a beard on 
it ? Oh, mine friend ! 

Bluegrass. 

Come out from under your disguise, Peter Punch. You 
have the eternal fitness of things under your thumb, and 
that makes a good tailor and a shrewd philosopher. 

Punch. 
I thank you, gentlemens. 

Whetstone. 

Show me some clothes worn by kings, princes, and poten- 
tates. 

Punch. 

Mine friend, let me take your measure. \_He takes Whet- 
stone's measure with a tape-line.'\ 

Whetstone. 

Do you think you can take my measure for a suitable 
character suit with your puny tape-line? Put up your line, 
and search Flatpuddle Smith's Biography of Great Men, — 
although I must say there are in that book some of the big- 
gest measures of the littlest men on earth ; and besides, old 
Heavyweight, who made his fortune putting sand in sugar, is 
on the first page. They asked for sugar, and he sandpapered 
them. It'll go rough with him. Peter Punch, listen to my 

69 



The Merchant Prince 

measure. I 'm a merchant prince, Mayor Whetstone, from 
Cornville, near the capital of Illinois, called Hercules after 
my grand-uncle Hercules, who drove the Indians down the 
Mississippi. 

Punch \_presentlng a robe'j. 

This is the robe that Julius Caesar wore when he did thrice 
refuse the crown up at the Capitol. 

Whetstone. 
Why did he refuse it? Didn't it fit him? I don't want 
that. 

Punch [j>resenting a su'ii^. 

This is a suit worn by a shepherd boy as he tends his 
flocks, — young Norval's suit. 

Whetstone. 

Confound you ! Do you think I want to be a shepherd 
boy, and herd sheep ? 

Punch \_presenting another suit\. 
This is the suit of a Highlander. 

Whetstone. 
That 's high-sounding. Let me see it. What 's this ? 

Punch. 

That goes around the waist like a petticoat. 

70 



of Cornville. 

Whetstone, 
Where 's the other part ? 

Punch. 
There is none. 

Whetstone. 

Take back your Highlander. [Punch winh.1 Stop 
winking ! 

Punch. 

Goodness gracious ! you surprises me so. But here, mine 
friend. This is a suit of King Richard the Lion-Heart, who 
slew thousands of Saracens in one day. 

Whetstone. 

Why did n't they stop him, the old villain ^ Peter Punch, 
you may as well put down both shutters over your eyes. 
Business is closed. [Gowg. 

Punch. 

Wait, wait, mine dear friend ; I have a beautiful suit of 
armor, magnificent ! I saves it for you. I keeps it wrapped 
up. It is the suit of a grand knight-errant. [^Takes covering 
from mounted suit of armor. ~\ 

Whetstone. 

Ah, that's something like the thing. The business we are 
on is a sort of a night errand. What line of business was 
he in ? Did he travel much at night \ 

71 



The Merchant Prince 

Punch. 

Mine friend, you is mistaken. The knight-errant was a 

great man who went around foreign countries clad in a suit 

of mail, rescuing beautiful damsels, over seven hundred 

years ago. 

Whetstone. 

So long ago as that ? His clothes must be a little rusty ; 
but you can rub them well. You don't say the suit is 
seven hundred years old ? 

Punch. 
Over seven hundred years, mine friend [^winking']. 

Whetstone. 

Major, what would they say if they knew of this in 
Cornville ? So the old rascal used to go around in the 
night, rescuing beautiful damsels ; and they called them 
night errands ! Did n't he rescue the ugly damsels too? 

Punch. 
History is silent, mine friend. 

Whetstone. 

Well, I do declare! I'll keep up his trade. I'll build 
up the old industry on these shores, and I '11 make it hum. 

Punch. 
I have English, French, Spanish, and other cheaper 
kinds ; but I '11 give you the suit of a grand German knight- 
errant, because he was a great Teuton. 

-2 



1 



1 



of Cornville. 

Whetstone. 

What is the rent to-night for the so-called Teuton knight 

errant ? 

Punch. 

You shall have him cheap. I will calculate. One cent 

a year, one dollar for each hundred years, — seven dollars, 

mine friend. 

Whetstone. 

Is n't that tooting it rather high for a night errand ? 

Punch. 

Mine friend, the Teuton knight-errant was the most sub- 
stantial and high-toned. 

Whetstone. 

Substantial and high-toned! I'll invest. I'll wake up 
your old Teuton knight-errant, and make him hum. 

[Exeunt. 

Scene IV. — J street. Evening. ]ack., disguised as an ape., 
on his way to the masquerade. 

Enter Fopdoodle and Tom, his valet. 

FoPDOODLE. 

Bv Jove, what is it? — Tom, my man, stand firm. — 
Audacious creature ! So much hair on it, you know. I 'd 
kindly thank you for your card. 

-7^ 



The Merchant Prince 

Jack. 

Apes and conundrums, having been made before pockets, 
do not carry their cards. Did you ever husk an ear of corn ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

Audacious beast ! Fopdoodle 's no farmer. 

Jack. 

Then how do you expect to husk me by the ear? For 
the ear of an ape stands higher than a vegetable. 

Fopdoodle. 
What a misapplication of terms ! 

Jack. 
Why did you not bring your shell with you ? 

Fopdoodle. 

What shell ? 

Jack. 

The shell of a goose-egg. Go get it, and put yourself in 
it, or I '11 make an omelet of you by assault and battery. 

[Moving around Fopdoodle. 

Fopdoodle. 

By Jove, you 're a ferocious ape. I '11 have you arrested. 
Ho, there ! Oh^ policeman, come at once, I pray you, and 
quell this riot. Come, I command you. But he don't 

74 



of Cornville. 

come. What an abominable government we do have ! If 
we had a king, then I 'd be protected, — a nice, sweet king ! 
Then, you know, I 'd go to court ; then I 'd be My Lord 
Fopdoodle. Oh, I 'd dearly love a king. 

Jack. 

What would you do if an enemy arose ? 

Fopdoodle. 

Why, then the king would say: Upon the breeze that 
blows upon the borders of my land, I snifFthe enemy. My 
lord, my good and trusty Lord Fopdoodle, hasten. Gather 
two hundred thousand men or so of our confiding yeomanry 
and stanchest citizens. Go put the enemy down. — And I 
would do it. 

Jack. 

But suppose he would n't stay down .? 

Fopdoodle. 
Tom, my man, stand firm. — When a king puts an enemy 
down, he puts him under ground. 

Jack. 

How would you raise the cash ? 

Fopdoodle. 

If I saw the treasury running low, I 'd rise and thus address 
the throne of majesty : Of late, most able king, thy servant, 

75 



The Merchant Prince 

Lord Fopdoodle, whom thou hast ennobled, hath observed 
sundry of his former friends, shopkeepers, swelling with 
wealth and aping his nobility. I'll strip them of their tow- 
ering ambition by taking off the goods from their top shelves. 
And then the king would say, Good my lord, thou art aright j 
go thou and do it. And I would go and do it. 

Jack. 
Would you have any whims ? 

Fopdoodle. 

Would n't I have whims ! — Tom, my man, stand firm. — 
Thousands of them. If a king and his lords can't have their 
whims, they 're not so good as other people are. Some day, 
when the king was in a right good humor, I would say: 
Your valiant Majesty, an ape doth offend me much. I have 
a whim. I crave a boon, my liege, a boon, my sovereign ; 
and he would say, I'll grant it thee. Then I would say, I 
thank thee, good my sovereign. I would that all the apes in 
thy kingdom were destroyed. And he would say. Take this 
my signet ring, and let them perish. 

Jack. 
And you would kill poor Jack ? 

Fopdoodle. 

Are you Jack ? Mr. Northlake's own son Jack, and cousin 
to beautiful Miss Violet.? Why, Jack, I could love even an 
ape if he were cousin to the beautiful Miss Violet. 

76 



of Cornville. 

Jack. 

Would you cozen an ape ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

[Jsidel I '11 steal into Miss Violet's secret heart through 
this half-open, half-witted gate of a cousin. [y^loucQ I 'm in 
love. Help me, Jack. About the king, good Jack, I was 
but joking ; and if I were married to Miss Violet, and were 
the king's lord, I would not hurt a hair on an ape's body. 
Oh, she's a sweet conundrum; a rose is a conundrum, — 
why, I 'm a sweet conundrum myself. Jack, you 're a stun- 
ning good fellow, an awfully good ape. Let me stroke ape's 
hair. 

Jack. 

Paws off! You Miss my cousin, but she '11 not miss you. 
I represent to-night a missing link which were well found in 
you. I 'm in full dress, — Nature's regulation costume for 
the ape; but you commit a barefaced outrage with your ape's 
nature minus the hair. Meet me at the masquerade. 

FoPDOODLE. 

Tom, my man, stand firm! — Don't go, Jack. — I'll go 
too. 

[^Exeuni. 



77 



The Merchant Prince 

Scene V. — Violet's boudoir ^ dunly lighted. 
Enter Northlake, with domino on his arrn^ reading a book. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Not yet ! still in her dressing-room. To-night 
Fortune shall win a prize more delicate 
Than are the velvet leaves of fabled roses. 
For years my mind's best nutriment has come 
By night, — and what of night ? I '11 think on it, 
While Violet arrays herself for this 
Night's masquerade. It would be right in me 
To fancy night as a black sea in space, 
That hath circumference and depth, and through 
Whose clouded elements grim-visaged hawks 
Do sleekly plunge like fishes in the sea. 
Seeking their prey j and all upon the earth 
Dwell on the floor of this aerial sea. 
And thence look longingly at moon and stars. 

Oh, hasten, sun, drive back this monstrous tide ■ 

Of night ! See how these trembling night-lights throb ^ 

With the sun's offices. Ten million such 
Could not burn up a solitary rood. 
Nor make partition for a vaulted league 
Of this black night. But I'll not rail against 
The gentle night ; for often doth it bear 
A princely offering to Mammon's shrine. 
But come, my niece, my gentle Violet, 

78 



i 



of Cornville. 

Make haste; the hours halt not for lagging maids, 
Nor fortune either. 

Violet [within]. 

Patience, my good uncle. 

NORTHLAKE. 

What is this vaunted love that so doth set 

The world on edge ? 'Tis but the kindled rapture 

Of selfishness, that joys to see its double, 

Its fond endearment, its sweet concord, and 

Reflection in another. While love is true. 

Two doubles come, both blent in one, in love's 

Bright mirror ; but when fails the endearing bond 

Of selfishness, the passions, then two natures 

Rudely clash therein, and love sees double, 

Like to an eye disordered. Wonderful 

Nature is solved as easily as a scholar 

Doth solve his problem on the wall, when lo ! 

The master's back is turned, and stealthily 

He peeps into the key. O Selfishness, 

Thou art the key to all the operations 

Of all this globe, — all men and animals, 

And all the garniture of fields and forests. 

Oft thou art hideous ; then thou art distorted. 

As is a lovely body racked by torture ; 

But in thy true and fair proportioned self 

Thou 'rt beautiful as beauty, and as wise 

79 



The Merchant Prince 

As wisdom. Thou art plentiful as color, 
Sound, motion ; and without thee Nature would 
Eclipse herself in stark and blank oblivion. 
Learn early this misfortune : Envy and Hate 
Live on good fortune. . . . Not ready yet ! 
I '11 knock upon the door [knocking']. Fair Violet^ 
Make haste, or we '11 be late, 

Violet [within']. 
Presently, good uncle. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Dimly these lights do burn, as if this boudoir 
A cloister were ; but these fair ornaments. 
Arranged in chaste profusion, show a maiden 
Mind dwells here that doth delight in beauty. 
Yonder, enshrined with wreaths of evergreen 
And immortelles, a precious picture hangs, — 
Her mother and my sister, looking most 
Pityingly on me. What is this? Why, here's 
The carven image of a maid at prayer ; 
And here's a tender picture of a youth 
And maiden in a flower-garden, done 
In placid oils upon a patch of canvas. 
Methinks the artist had done better had 
He put here in the corner of the picture 
Some quaint and curious demon, peeping o'er 
The garden wall. Why, looking at these toys, 
So fitting for a maiden's bower, almost 

80 



of Cornville. 

Moves me from my purpose. Must all these 

Vanish ? Will not some angel answer me ? 

No ; Heaven answers not a bankrupt's prayer. 

My fortune and her fortune swallowed in 

The hideous maw of speculation ; both 

Banished, completely banished ! Why, I 'd rather 

Be exiled from my country than my fortune. 

But all, all is not lost. She hath a girlish 

Beauty and a heart most rare ; and in 

This age of rude massed gold there 's value in it. 

A heaven-dowered woman hath an alchemy 

That can refine base gold. The bargain 's good. . . » 

Ninon, is not thy lady nearly ready .? 

Ninon [within]. 

My lady does demur to wear ze dress, 
And says she 'd rather be plain Violet. 

Northlake. 

Thy scruples, Violet, are pretty whims ; 

But more become a simpering maid than thy 

Chaste self. \_Jsi(Ie'] Alas, the plague of poverty ! 

\_JIoud] Thou dost obedient service to thy guardian 

Uncle, and mayst save him from a plague 

That 's worse than all the plagues that e'er beset 

The town of Coventry. 

Violet [within]. 
Plague take the costume ! I do not like it. 



The Merchant Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

Let me turn up these lights — the jewel 's from 

[ Turning up the lights. 
Its casket brought. I keep no false coin in 
My house, no cunning mockery, no smirking 
Counterfeit. Why, he shall own, and rightly 
Own, that she, in bodily volition. 
Movement, and gesture, well doth match a mind 
That 's matchless. 

Enter Violet infancy costume^ and Ninon carrying domino. 

Violet. 
Dear uncle, art thou pleased? 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Why, thou art richly worth his gold, were his 
Possessions fabulous. 

Violet. 
Whose gold, good uncle ? 
Thou speakest strangely. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

I did but jest a trifle. 

Violet. 

Give me thy arm, good uncle. I '11 tease thee. 

[ Taking his arm. 
I do mistrust thou 'dst sell me in this costume ; 

82 



of Cornville. 

For Ninon, chatting as we dressed, and humoring 
Me, did say that often thus they sell 
Circassian maids unto the Turk. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Nay, 'tis but idle prattle in Ninon. 

Violet. 

Dear uncle, let Ninon companion be 
To me to-night, 

NoRTHLAKE. 

If 't is thy merry wish. 

Violet. 
I thank thee, my dear uncle. 

North LAKE \_taking domino from Ninon and putting it 
on Violet]. 

Give me the domino. Thou 'It wear it on 
Thy passage to the ball. It is a shield 
Which, laid aside, thy beauty's peerless might 
Shall conquer all. 

[ Curtain. 



83 



The Merchant Prince 



Act the Third. 

Scene I. — A masquerade. Musicians playing. Maskers 
moving about. 

£'«/^r Whetstone and Bluegrass in masquerade 
costume. 

Whetstone. 
Major, have we any parallels for this ? 

Bluegrass. 

Millions of parallels. Nature loves a masquerade as much 
as she abhors a vacuum. 

Whetstone. 

See if my character is loose. It feels like slipping down 
over my boots. 

Bluegrass. 

Hold on to your character ; never let it slip, or all is lost. 
Remember, you are a Teuton knight-errant of the Horn of 
Plenty, and I am Rainbow, your squire. The ancient warrior 
Achilles carried a shield with amazing scenes beaten thereon. 

Whetstone. 

I can beat Achilles' shield all hollow. I 've brought my 
album, with photographs of my houses, stores, banks, farms, 

84 



of Cornville. 

academy, and prize cattle. Here it is. [Displaying a large 
album.] But come, my boy, again explain. Why am I 
called the Horn of Plenty ? 

Bluegrass. 

Horn of Plenty signifies wealth. Remember, we are now 
walking in a romance, and explanations are like stumbling- 
blocks in a dream. One must imagine more than he sees. 

Enter Scythe with glass^ examining Whetstone, and 
especially Jack, among the masqueraders. 

Whetstone. 

Then she might imagine I was a dinner-horn, a trombone- 
horn, a tooting-horn, the moon's horn, a horned beast, or 
some other horn, or that I took a horn as a matter of busi- 
ness. 

Bluegrass. 

Don't talk of business ; stick to your character. 

Whetstone. 
Confound you, my boy ! I am sticking to my character, 
and my character sticks to me. I feel like a rooster in an 
iron nightgown. 

Bluegrass. 

Solid in solid. 

Whetstone. 
I 'm the only one here who seems to have his clothes 
riveted and anchored to him. 

85 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 

Hold ! you must talk in the language of knight-errantry : 
My sweet, fair, or beauteous lady, wilt tread a measure in 
the dance ? I am listed in the tournament of love. — Some- 
thing in that strain. 

Whetstone. 

Will my clothes bear the strain ? 

Bluegrass. 

Seemingly, but if you should feel rusty, either in character 
or memory, ask me to polish you ; for such is my traditional 
duty as your faithful squire. 

Enter Northlake, Violet, and Ninon. 

Whetstone \ohserving Violet]. 
Oh, ho! look there, Major, my boy, — there comes the 
prize of the market. She 's pretty as a pet kitten. She 's 
sweet as a box of honey. She 's worth a barrel of money. 
I wish it were Violet; I'd throw in the farm on Pearl 
Creek. 

Bluegrass. 

Steady, steady ; hang on to your character! 

Catharine [recognizing Bluegrass]. 

\_Jside'\ That is he with the blue ribbon. I '11 hail this 
rainbow. \_Aloud^ Sir Rainbow, you make fair promises, and 
keep them fairly. 

86 



of Cornville. 

Bluegrass. 
Rainbows bespeak fair weather and fair maids. 

Catharine. 

You have bespoken fair weather with bright words, and 
you shall bespeak a fair maid with bright eyes, as I promised 
you to-day on the seashore. 

Bluegrass. 
Oh, where is she ? 

Catharine. 

Yonder she stands while the fates work her destiny, — 
the fair Ninon. Come, give me your arm. 

[They join NiNON. 

Whetstone. 

Going, going, gone ; knocked down to the first bidder ! 
What a weakness he has developed for women ! 

Northlake. 

\_Jside] Why, that's the voice of Mayor Whetstone. I '11 
address him. [Aloud'\ Ho, most gallant knight, thy squire 
hath left thee in a lonesome plight ! 

Whetstone. 

I am the so-called Teuton knight of the Horn of Plenty. 
Do you know me ? 

87 



The Merchant Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

Have you the mettle of the true knight ? 

Whetstone. 

I 'm covered vi^ith metal seven hundred years old. North- 
lake, I know you ! Where is she ? 

NORTHLAKE. 

Yonder, vi^ith her maid. Go, woo and win the lady. You 
could not have chosen a better suit in which to press your 
suit. 

Whetstone. 

She shall be mine, and you shall be rewarded. [To Violet.] 
Beauteous lady, I am the resplendent knight of the Horn of 
Plenty. [Aside] What 's the rest ? [^Aloud] Please wait a 
moment till I see my squire. 

\_He goes to consult ivith Bluegrass. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

He is the antipodes of that ancient gentleman whose dress 
he wears. But, alas ! the rudest oft give most thanks for a 
gentle wife, and he '11 make her a comfortable husband. To 
do this, some would say was villanous in me; but 'tis a 
convenient fashion. Wealth is a rude mountain, from which 
the gentle win gentle treasures. The Decorator of the fields 
hath placed the flower and sturdy plant side by side, and the 
one doth shield the other. From dankest earth the whitest 

88 



of Cornville. 

lily grows; from keen-edged sands the fairest blossom blows. 
E'en frozen clods have flowers, and flowers their frozen 
clods. 

Whetstone [returning to Violet]. 

Wilt tread a measure with me? I am listed in the tour- 
nament of love. 

Violet. 

Thy words bespeak a gallant knight. I '11 grant thy wish. 

NORTHLAKE [tO CaTHARINE]. 

I pray thee for a partner. 

J dance. Whetstone and Violet, Bluegrass and Ninon, 
Northlake and Catharine ; Scythe inspects Jack 
with his glass and takes him for a partner. 

[ Curtain. 



Scene II. — J balcony. 
Enter Whetstone and Violet. 

Violet. 

Sir Knight of the Horn of Plenty, did thy grand-uncle slay 

the Indians ? 

Whetstone. 

All of them. The banks of the Mississippi were covered. 
He had hired soldiers under him who harvested their scalps 

89 



The Merchant Prince 

while he slew them. In my life in Flatpuddle Smith's Biog- 
raphy of Great Men, you will find him given as my great 
collateral ancestor. 

Violet. 
Thy family is warlike, but surely thou art a gentle knight. 

Whetstone. 

Oh, I 'm gentle now ; but if one of those savage Indians 
rose up against me, I 'd heap this illustrated album of civili- 
zation, like a burning coal, upon his head ! Do you know, 
when I was in Europe they offered to make me a reigning 
prince — if I'd pay for it. There were several vacant 
thrones, and I was about making a bid, when my gigantic 
business interests called me back to Cornville, and the throne 
fell through. 

Violet. 

W"hen you were in Europe, did you visit Rome ? 

Whetstone. 

Passed through in the night-time, and did n't stop. No 
business done there ; only a lot of fellows cutting figures in 
stone, and painting pictures under the old masters. 

Violet. 

'T is cruel in thee to jest so. Thy figure shows a gallant 
knight, and thou dost speak by contraries to make thy show- 
ing finer. How doth the moon shine in Europe ? 

90 



of Cornville. 

Whetstone. 
The same old moon. 

Violet. 
'T is very fair. 

Whetstone. 

Why, there is the so-called fair moon now, sure enough ! 
[Looking at the vioon.~\ It shines like a new tin pan. 

Violet. 

The moon shines on thy armor, and thou thyself dost 
shine like a new tin pan. 

Whetstone. 

There 's the new moon, the quarter moon, the full moon, 
and the dark of the moon. The moon is good enough in its 
place. 

Violet. 

Why, where is the moon's place, if not in heaven ? 

Whetstone. 
In the almanac. 

Violet. 

Why, gallant knights and lovers gather substantial suste- 
nance from moonlight. 'T is prescribed by Heaven and 
the poets. And thou revilest the moon? Thou art a traitor 
to nature. Thy best place were in an almanac, in the dark 
of the moon, in the sign of Capricorn. 

91 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 

Off with the mask ! [^Re?noves head-piece.'^ Behold the 
real Honorable Mayor Whetstone, Merchant Prince of 
Cornville, near the capital of Illinois ; called Hercules after 
his real grand-uncle Hercules, who drove the real Indians 
reeling down the real Mississippi, Do you follow me ? 

Violet. 
Heaven guide me in this whirlwind of contraries ! 

Whetstone. 
Take yours off, too. 

Violet. 

As I hate disguises, and this moonlight is a gentle vapor, 
I'll unmask without more argument. \_She unmasks. 

Whetstone. 

Beauteous Violet, you are my future wife. Let, oh, let 
me take a kiss. 

Violet. 

Our acquaintance is too brief for a jest so durable. 

Whetstone, 

Come, no one sees us. Just one little kiss. [Enter 
Scythe, looking at them through his glass. ~\ Professor, get 
out ! Take notes, hunt specimens, and shelve your knowl- 
edge •, but never let me see you here again. [To Violet] 
Did not your uncle tell you ? [Exit Scythe. 

92 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 

Why, thou art a sportive knight, indeed. Oh, thou art a 

deep dissembler ! But, no, thou art a gallant knight ! This 

is some stratagem of words and dress, invented by my good 

uncle for my diversion. If thou wilt keep a secret, I will 

tell it thee. 

Whetstone. 

I '11 keep it. But, oh, how I 'd like a kiss ! 

Violet. 

Kissing is an idle fashion but lightly spoken of by our best 
authors, and well missed by young misses. But to my secret. 
This morn my uncle told me in the orchard that he had 
chosen for me a lover, — a most substantial gentleman, a 
very merchant prince — \_Pauses. 

Whetstone. 
Go on ; give me all your secret. 

Violet. 

Why, thou art he in name and title ; but I know thou art 
not, from thy discord in guise, speech, and action ; and thou 
dost carry out a jest too literally with thy contraries. 

Whetstone. 

I swear I am the real he. See, here is my album ! [^Open- 
ing album.'] Here is my picture, in my shirt-sleeves, before 
my store. See the sign above the door : Hercules Whet- 

93 



The Merchant Prince 

stone's Gigantic Store. Here 's my banking-house. See, 
see ! Now, do you believe and love me ? Be my wife, and 
I '11 bind the bargain with a kiss. 

Violet. 

Surely thou art the prince of jesters ; and if 't is thy humor, 
in part I '11 not deny thee ; but no maid should bind a bar- 
gain with betrothal kiss until she knows the true worth of it. 
Hast thou any castles in thy domain .'' 

Whetstone. 

Castles ? Why, I own the half of Cornville. See [showing 
the a/bum]^ here 's my town-house. I '11 have its hall set in 
solid mahogany. Then we '11 be the Honorable Mr. and 
Mrs. Mayor Whetstone, of Mahogany Hall, Cornville, 
solid people, — if you like, in our castle. 

Violet. 

When thou dost in a day change thy house into a castle, 
then it will have a gallant knight. 

Enter Fopdoodle concealing himself. 

Whetstone [showing a picture in the album"]. 

See, this is my stately dairy farm. Yonder pearly stream 
that through the middle of the farm doth run and wind about, 
and then run in and out as if 't were playing tag between its 
wave-kissed banks, is called Pearl Creek. It is a curious 

94 



of Cornville. 

stream. Here, once, the wild goose, while he plucked the 
toothsome grass from its banks of verdure, listened to an 
Indian maid. Here, beneath this spacious sycamore, we '11 
sit and fish for speckled trout ; I 'II bait the hook. And 
when 'tis winter we'll skate upon it. See yonder latticed 
arbor perched upon the bank : it is the hen-house, with hens 
and their companions from many lands. Here will we gather 
eggs through all the seasons ; and to have fresh eggs in win- 
ter is no mean luxury. See yonder moss-covered house of 
stone picturesquely wading in the water. It is the milk- 
house, with all its crocks of golden cream. Here, with 
sparkling water, without a murmur from the world, we '11 
fill our crocks of fortune to the brim. Here, amid these 
scenes of thrift and beauty, bustling hens, pensive geese, 
lowing herds, crocks of cream, and gleaming fishes, we '11 
wander hand in hand, spending our full-orbed honeymoon, 
while the rude outsiders stare in dreamy wonder at so much 
happiness on earth. Does not the prospect charm you.? 

Violet. 

Do not end thy bright illumined catalogue. Give me 

it all. 

Whetstone. 

Give you it all ! I '11 give you your share, but not all. 
Come, Violet, that's asking too much ! 

FoPDOODLE \_from his concealment^ . 
Oh for a dagger to assassinate him ! O dazzling Violet ! 

95 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet. 
Continue. 

Whetstone. 

Oh ! Now we leave the country, and come to town 
[referring to the album']. Here is my edifice of learning, 
my Cornville Academy, my spring of knowledge. I own 
the whole of it. Here 's my Cornville Eagle, which shall 
brighten its plumage when we are married ; and here 's my 
Bank, whose president craves your hand. Do let me take 
it now ; no one is looking. 

Scythe appears stealthily for a moment.^ observing them 
with his glass. 

Violet. 

They who love moonlight must not forget the man in the 
moon ; and I must first ask my uncle. But I did not know 
that knights of late had grown so rich. I must put on my 
spectacles. 

Whetstone. 

Bless me, are you near-sighted ? I '11 come nearer. 

Violet. 

Nay, at dawn I was near-sighted, but to-night I am far- 
sighted. 

Whetstone. 

Bless me, I almost forgot it, — I own half a church, and 
built the steeple out of my own pocket. 

96 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 
Art thou a pious knight ? 

Whetstone. 

Heaven must have a share. Besides, it was a sharp 
business project. It is the highest steeple in the State ; and 
some day I '11 ride into the governor's chair on it. 

Violet, 

Thy steeple should turn thy thoughts to heaven, instead 
of to the earth. 

Whetstone. 

That reminds me of the lightning-rod. \_Jside'\ I 'II give 
her a sample of my business talents. \_Aloud^ A pedler one 
day said tome: Mayor Whetstone, I wish to introduce into 
your community my patent flanged galvanized lightning-rods. 
Said I to him, pointing to the steeple: Eureka! Excelsior! 
Do you climb? Do you follow me? Do you donate? Is 
the advertisement worth the rod ? Will you spare the 
steeple, and spoil the rod ? He climbed. He donated. Be- 
fore the next thunderstorm he received orders for over forty 
rods from members who were afraid the lightning would 
strike their property if they did n't buy a rod. 

Violet. 

I much mistrust thou 'rt not a redoubtable, but only a 
doubtful, knight. 

7 97 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone [kneeling^. 
Heaven knows \ is true. I pray for your hand. 

Violet. 
Pray for thine own heart. Rise ; for when thou kneelest, 
thou half Hest. So stand up, and be not prone to he upon 
thy knees. 

FoPDOODLE \_from his concealment^ . 

Oh, how I want to be a noble husband ! O dazzling 
Violet! Oh, oh! 

Whetstone [rising]. 

I thought I heard some one owe me something ! 

Violet. 

No one here owes thee anything. Take thy mind off 

thy gains. 

Whetstone. 

Let me call your uncle. 

Violet. 
Nay, thy jest in greed lacks no ingredient. 

Whetstone. 

That 's not all ; I have more stores, houses, cattle, stocks, 
barrels of money, stacks of it — 

Violet. 

Well, go on ; give me it all. 

98 



Give you it all ! 
All, everything. 



of Cornville. 

Whetstone. 

Violet. 
Whetstone. 



Give you it all ! That 's practical. Who 'd have 
thought it in one so young ? Would you outwit me ? 
Would you outmatch me ? Would you ruin me ? 

Violet. 

Thou art a gentle stupid. I only meant, give me a descrip- 
tion of all, — thy catalogue of all thou hast. Thy lips label 
better thy goods than thy love. 

Whetstone. 
What 's that ? 

Violet. 

I insist upon all. I do mistrust — for I'm no trusting 
miss — that thou art a poor ignoble man withal, hired by my 
jesting uncle withal to put on this chivalrous disguise withal 
to jest with me withal. What false knight art thou that thou 
wilt not endow the lady of thy love with all thou dost pos- 
sess, that lovest thy goods better than love .? Thou art of 
crude metal. Go to thy farm on Pearl Creek ; I do not 

want thy goods. 

Whetstone. 

Am I dreaming } 

99 



The Merchant Prince 

FoPDOODLE \^fro?n his co?7cealment'j. 

Oh for a carmine dagger to hack, to stab, to prostrate 
him ! Oh, how I crave to be a noble husband. O dazzhng 
Violet ! 

Violet. 

Thou hast kept from thy catalogue and basely concealed 
that which loving knights and ladies prize the highest. 

Whetstone. 
What can it be ? I '11 buy it. 

Violet. 
'T were better guessed, for by purchase it loses its value. 

Whetstone. 

I know nothing like it. But if it be concealed and of the 
highest value, it must be a gold mine. 

Violet. 
Nay, thou gentle stupid, try again. 

Whetstone. 

Ah, now I 've got it. A coal mine. Why, Violet, you 
are wiser than I thought. You look beneath the surface. 
There is a rich vein of coal beneath my farm ; but it 's not 
worked. 

100 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 

Neither is the vein of love well worked by thee. Try 
again, and for lack of discovery and my sentence, thou shalt 
bear no complaint to my uncle. 

FoPDOODLE \^from his concealment}. 
Oh, let me tell ! O dazzling Violet ! 

Whetstone. 
I can think of nothing else besides. 

Violet. 
Put thy hand to thy left side. Hast thou no heart ? 

Whetstone [putting his hand over his heart"]. 
I have a heart; and oh, I feel it beat tremendously. 

Violet. 
He is a poor merchant in love, who, having a heart, hath 
no value to it. He 's a bankrupt who can declare no dividend 
unto his lady creditor. A true and loving heart hath larger 
dividends than banks, richer harvests than farms, finer goods 
than stores, and more happiness than all the world besides. 

FoPDOODLE [frojn his concealment']. 

O Violet, I 've got a heart, O dazzling Violet ! 

lOI 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet. 
Methinks that soon the silver moon will yonder mantling 
cloud enrich, and leave thee a knight quite poor. 

Whetstone. 

I cannot lose you. Your worth grows upon me at the 
rate of a thousand dollars a minute. \_KneeIing] Here on 
my knees let me explain. 

Violet. 

Rise. I cannot help thee, although 't is sadly said. Hadst 
thou discovered thy heart earlier, and put the true worth of 
a heart upon it, then I had thought more deeply. But now, 
alas ! thy discovery comes too late. I am a young judge, 
yet my sentence shall be a just one, and I '11 not revoke it. 
Thou art a guileful knight. I sentence thee to perpetual 
banishment ; and that thou mayst study the phases of a 
maid's heart and of the moon, I will allow thee no book but 
thy almanac. 

Whetstone. 

Let the heavens hear me ! I am not through yet. I have 
a fearful fever ! 

Violet. 

Maids are no doctors, except for hearts in love. 

Whetstone. 

Oh, I am in love, and now I know it, 

102 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 

Thy complaint comes too late. Be patient, but be no 
patient of mine. I'll practice on thee no further. Thou 
hast thy sentence. 

FoPDOODLE leaves his concealment. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Stay, you villain ! If I had my dagger, I 'd stab you. O 
dazzling Violet ! 

Whetstone [rising]. 
Who are you ? 

FoPDOODLE. 

You caitiff knight, I am Augustus Fopdoodle and your 
deadly rival. O dazzling Violet ! 

Whetstone. 

You rascal rat ! you eavesdropper ! If I had my knightly 
sword, I 'd hack you into a thousand pieces and make you 
bait for catfish. Where's my sword? 

Fopdoodle. 

Aha, vain boaster! There is my gage of battle; pick it 
up. [fThrows down a glove. 

Whetstone. 

Pick it up yourself, you villain ! 

103 



The Merchant Prince 



Violet. 



Hold, gentlemen, brave gentlemen ! 'Twere a pity that 
two such gentlemen should end a harmless jest in sanguinary 
strife. Come. Your brave humors make the rash current of 
your words more harmful than your sword-blades. Believe 
me. Come. \_Exeunt Whetstone and Violet. 

FOPDOODLE. 

I'll challenge him this very night to fight a duel. Fop- 
doodle, thou art a brave man. Bless thee, Augustus Fop- 
doodle. Bless thee, O dazzling Violet ! I am a terribly 
quick man, and I should have killed thousands of men had I 
but done it when I thought to do it. Let me think. — No, 
I must not think so much upon the bloody deed, the grim 
and horrid spectacle. Thinking cools me off like an evap- 
oration ; yet truly there is a manifold vigor in me, O daz- 
zling Violet, else why am I so brave when heated ? Fire 
brings out my bravery. What is the coward quality that 
on a sudden chokes my valor so? I have it: it comes of 
too much thinking. Let me pluck it out. — But no, I can- 
not pluck out my brains; yet I will admonish my head not 
to think so much. But still, thinking is wisdom ; therefore 
too much wisdom makes me a thinking coward. I must 
cultivate less wisdom. O dazzling Violet ! I '11 send him 
a challenge, and he '11 not fight. A bloodless triumph. 
Now thinking comes to my rescue. Animals have not this 
process of thinking, for I have seen terrible animals fight 
ferociously until they were dead, dead. O dazzling Violet ! 

104 



of Cornville. 

Therefore I bless thee, Augustus Fopdoodle, that thou hast 
the spirit of bravery ; but I do bless thee more that thou 
hast the process of thinking. I do not think he '11 fight. 
O dazzling Violet ! 

[^Exit. 

Scene III. — The same. 

Enter ScYTHE, with glass. He seats himself in a corner^ 
observes the moon^ and takes notes. Etiter Bluegrass 
and Ninon, who do not observe Imn. 

Bluegrass. 

We have tripped into the hour of midnight, the fairies' 
hour. Now the fairest face, night-blooming like a mystic 
flower, may unmask its sweetness. 

Ninon. 

Charmant ! Monsieur Rainbow, you delight me all ze 
night. 

Bluegrass. 

Here I '11 unmask, for your two eyes have kindled a flame 
in my breast such as could not be lighted by all the stars 
burning in yonder heavens. \_He unmasks. 

Ninon. 

Monsieur Rainbow, you is ze fiery lover, — ze grand 
gentleman. Take away ze bad mask. 

105 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 

In the nineteenth century, bright h"ttle sister of Venus, 
I '11 unmask you. [^He unmasks and kisses her. 

Ninon. 

Tres joli ! Oh, Monsieur Rainbow, you is ze grand 
American lover. 

Bluegrass. 

You are the sweetest little maid upon this magnificent 
star of ours. 

Ninon. 

Charmant ! Monsieur, you are ze Rainbow more spark- 
ling zan ze wine-cup. 

Bluegrass. 

There Is a wine finer than that of the grape to-night. 
Let this sparkling envelope of air be our distraction. See, 
Ninon, how it holds this globe like a cup star-jewelled, and 
proffered to our senses with all its myriad distilments of 
rapturous motions, varied colors, gladsome odors, and sweet 
sounds. 

Ninon. 

Monsieur Rainbow, we will drink from zat cup, and hunt 
ze buffalo in ze West. Magnifique ! 

Bluegrass. 

\^Js'ide~\ Beautiful simplicity ! Arcadia had no better than 
this untutored Parisian. \_Jloucr\ Dear Ninon, the advance- 

io6 



of Cornville. 

guard and keen-eyed pickets of civilization have driven the 
buffalo from our future home in Cornville ; but you shall 
have amusement. 

Ninon. 

\_Jside'\ Oh, he is ze grand American lover ! 

Bluegrass. 

Ninon, in Paris were you ever courted, — that is to say, 
were you ever in a court of love or law ? 

Ninon. 

Why, Major Bluegrass, I did not know ze court was for 
ze love. I thought ze court was only for ze law. 

Bluegrass. 

Give me simplicity ! O Love, the entangler, do not 
unravel us I Let no frog croak in Cornville. 

Scythe takes a glance at them through his glass. 

Ninon. 

Trcs beau ! Good Monsieur Rainbow, ze frog is ze great 

beau in ze springtime, with his fine green coat and gold 

buttons. 

Bluegrass. 

Now I remember me, the frog has a gallant look when the 
spring is in the meadows and the banks are grassy. Now I 
remember me more closely, he also has a romantic look j for 

107 



The Merchant Prince 

once, when a boy, I watched him sitting, like a sybarite 
Turk, upon a dewy bank in the pale moonlight, enjoying the 
downward fragrance of an o'erbending lily, which o'er him 
hung like a wedding bell. He gazed upon the moon sailing 
above him, and then upon the moon below him, glistening in 
the pond which was his bed, — Neptune's trundle-bed, made 
for frogs, — until, between these two perplexities of light, 
his eyes like diamonds shone. Shall I halt here ? 

Scythe looks at the earth and moon alternately with his 
glass. 

Ninon. 

No, no, dear Monsieur; go on, good Monsieur Rainbow. 
I have ze grand interest. His eyes shone like ze diamonds, 
ze beautiful diamonds. Superbe ! 

Bluegrass. 

Well, his eyes, like twin solitaires encrusted in rims of red 
gold, shone more translucently than any that e'er sparkled in 
the betrothal ring of an expectant bride. It seems this gen- 
tleman in green had grown fixedly practical between the real 
moon and the ideal moon, and would not have an ideal when 
he had not the real ; for he, poor frog, like some of our prac- 
tical humans, did not know that the ideal moon in a pond 
was much finer than a pond in the real moon. Now do I see 
him, as plainly as if it were to-night, there coolly sitting and 
meditating, quite philosophical. 

io8 



of Cornville. 

Ninon. 

Oui, oui ; zat was a foolish froggie, Monsieur Rainbow. 
Beware of ze philosophy. Ah, Major Bluegrass, you have 
ze fervent language zat thrills me. 

Bluegrass. 
Dear Ninon, my description, like your own pretty costume 
with all its frills, tucks, and love-knots, has a moral with it. 
Before this philosophic gentleman in green had reconciled 
himself to an ideal, a flying cloud curtained the moon; and 
thus in his philosophy he let bright opportunity slip, and 
went dark below. 

Scythe discontinues using glass. 

Ninon. 
Oui, oui ; too true. I pity ze poor froggie. 

Bluegrass. 

Dear Ninon, render him no pity ; for although I was but a 
green boy, I then resolved that opportunity was greater than 
philosophy. Ninon, yonder glorious moon shines brightly as 
on that memorable nio-ht in the meadows. 'T is a bright 
opportunity ; let me kiss thee again. 

Ninon. 
Pardon, sweet Monsieur Rainbow ; wait for ze grand oppor- 
tunity when ze honeymoon upon our wedding shines ; then 
you shall have ze thousand kisses. Charmant ! \_Exeunt. 

109 



The Merchant Prince 

Scene IV. — The same. 
Enter Northlake and Catharine. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Fair lady, I have led thee to this spot, 

Removed from all the merry throng of maskers ; 

For love grows best in solitude, and thrives 

But poorly when too many eyes look on; 

So saying, I unmask \_unmasking'\^ and ask that thou 

Wilt move that vestment from thy cheek, to whose 

Illumined page thine eyes are bright indexes. 

Pray let me draw the envious curtain back ; 

For though I 've scored some years, yet ne'er 't was said 

That I ungallant proved. 

Catharine. 
Stay for a moment, — I am strangely faint. 

Northlake. 

The ball-room's heat I fear has wearied thee. 

\_Tenderly supporting her. 

Catharine [recovering']. 
Nay, heed it not ; I long have been aweary. 

Northlake. 
Fair lady, tenderest fruit and hidden clings 
Within its husk until full season. Now 

no 



of Cornville. 

Thou mayst remove thy mask, for in my heart 
There 's sympathy that makes occasion ripe. 

Catharine. 

I see thou art a gallant gentleman ; 

I'd converse hold with thee, but pray that thou 

Wouldst leave me to my mask. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Be it as thou dost wish ; 
But at the close of our sweet interview 
I beg thou wilt disclose to me the face 
Of her whose gentle hand I now do press 
With all the ardor of my youthful days. 

Catharine. 

Oh, thou shalt have thy asking, never fear ; 
But first thou 'It answer questioning, — 't is but 
A foolish, idle question, yet thou mayst 
True answer make. But to be brief: Didst ever 
Love before ? Good gentleman, I pray thee 
Answer me truly. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Briefly, but once. 

Catharine. 

Speak not beyond. I thank thee. Sweeter sound 
Was never borne upon the air to woman. 
But of this once ? Answer me that. 

Ill 



The Merchant Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

Truly but once, and once most truly, I 

Did love her. \_Fausirig.] Well, I 'II pause no further ; yet 

Her voice and gesture much resembled thine. 

We parted, years ago, in sad estrangement ; 

And though within that sombre lapse of time 

We 've often met, yet never have we spoken. 

For we indeed are to each other — dead ! 

Catharine. 
Dead to each other ! 't is a woful word 
To those who 've loved. Thou fickle man ! thou dost 
Deceive thyself, — for true love never dies. 
Thy fate doth mirror mine. 

NoRTHLAKE \_taking her hand]. 

I beg thee tell it me. 

Catharine. 
Thou hold'st my hand close as my husband did 
Upon our wedding morn, when he did make 
Such noble vows of constancy as troops 
Of angels swift delight to register. 
And so we lived for many happy years ; 
They now do seem a vanished paradise ; 
And, looking back, beyond my later years, 
It seems to me as fair as tender Eden 
Did unto our first mother. Eve. And oft 
I 've wept most burning tears in memory 
Of the adored one who did hold me there. 

113 



of Cornville. 

NORTHLAKE. 

Why, thou dost clasp my hand with feverish zeal; 
Let 's walk upon the clitF. 

Catharine. 

Nay, stay, and listen. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

I '11 do as thou desirest. 

Catharine. 
Thou art a gallant gentleman. 1 '11 swift 
Unveil to thee a heart that 's worthier 
Than is the poor masked face thou pray'st to see. 
Oh, how can I portray to thee my joy 
When I was wife and mother ! Think of it, — 
For I am sure thou art a good, true man. 
And gallant gentleman. — In my full flush 
Of joy I was estranged from my dear husband, 
VVhom I did love so well I would have pledged 
My soul upon his honor. Then I was wild 
With sudden doubt and frenzied jealousy. 
His goodness seemed but evil, — as by the quick 
Hot-bolted lightning blasted, or as poison 
Transforms the fairest ornaments. In this 
Mad frenzy, at this same hour of midnight, 
I fled from him. Since then I 've been a restless 
Wanderer on the earth. But, oh ! on me 
The blame harder doth rest than it doth rest — 
On thee ! 

8 113 



The Merchant Prince 

NORTHLAKE. 

On me ? Why, who art thou ? 

Catharine [unfnasking^ . 

Thy lady Catharine. — Thou gallant gentleman, 
1 may again return to thee. Good-night ! 

l_Exit Catharine. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Lost wife, return! 'T is pitiful! By thee 

These lonely years my life 's been haunted. Once 

In each year thy visits, like untimely 

Seasons, come upon me, when and where 

I never know ; but once in each year, lightening 

My weary path. Mysterious and strange. 

Thou ne'er before hast spoken. Thou blameless Catharine, 

Return. Our sins of jealousy have borne 

Such fruit as grows from poisoned ground ; and yet 

Nor Time nor forcing Will can make us what 

We were in our first wedded life. These agents 

Are far too weak ; they never can restore 

To us the faith that's lost in our past lives, — 

Lost like a pearl dropped in dissolving flame, 

Its white and saintly fabric gone in a moment. 

Unhappy Catharine, and thou my more 

Unhappy self! These revels mock us. Poor mask! 

[_Lays down his mask. 
The mask that hath been torn from off my heart 

114 



of Cornville. 

This night hath left a shadow tenfold darker 
Than is thine own. I '11 go seek Violet, 
For she is like the beauteous sunlit day. 

\_Listening to strains of music from the ball-room. 
Music doth hold melodious discourse. 

[ Walks^ in meditation and soliloquy. 
Why, I am growing melancholy. My sun 's 
Across the line and courses the horizon ; 
My nights are growing longer than my days ; 
The glad days wane, until, as in the deepening 
Winter, near the northern pole, they '11 come 
But for a moment, a wedge of light between 
Two nights. Oh, hasten, come, thou blank, perpetual 
Night ! \_Music ceases.'\ The instruments are dumb, the 

players 
Are at rest ; but their unceased vibrations 
On struggling chords yet tremble in my breast. 
Alas ! such is the growth of melancholy. 

\ExiU 



1^5 



The Merchant Prince 



Act the Fourth. 

Scene I. — A room at the Dolphin Inn. Guns^ pistols^ swords^ 
and other weapons scattered around. Whetstone in armor., 
lying upon a sofa., disquietly sleeping. 

Enter Bluegrass carrying a large dictionary, 

Bluegrass. 

He sleeps. 'T is well. For centuries men, with eager 
eyes fixed upon the horizon, have awaited the coming of 
the purely literary duel. The auspicious morn is about to 
dawn, in fact, to bloom upon this magnificent star of ours, 
when, in affairs of honor, bloody swords, odious gunpowder, 
and slaughtering bullets no longer shall disgrace the planet. 

Whetstone ^dreaming^. 
Take away the sword ! Do not say I killed you ! 

Bluegrass. 

He dreams of the combat. Rest, warrior, rest ! Safe 
within this volume, and at your timely service, are such 
dire missiles, fearful and momentous cartridges, bombs, shells, 
fowling-pieces, blunderbusses, mortars, and battering-rams, 
as have rent nations asunder and awed the world. Can 
base gunpowder and lead do ^o much ? O puissant volume, 

ii6 



of Cornville. 

armory and magazine, I will select from your mighty stores, 
for my principal's sake, weapons which shall strike terror 
and dismay to his adversary's heart. Yes, a full dozen of as 
bold bad words as were ever conned from out thy depths by 
a dyspeptic writer at midnight hour in editorial den. 

[y/ rooster crows. 

Whetstone [still dreaming^ . 

See how he glares upon me ! 

Bluegrass. 

Rest, warrior, rest ! You go forth not to death, but to 
glorious immortality. [^Rooster crows. 

Whetstone [starting upj . 

Take him away ; he is killing me ! Oh, oh ! [Observing 
Bluegrass] Who are you ? 

Bluegrass [cheerfully']. 

Your trusty friend and second in this valiant enterprise. 
I've just returned from Fopdoodle's second. We have 
arranged the place, time, weapons, and conditions of the 
duel very satisfactorily. 

Whetstone. 
You seem to enjoy it ! 

Bluegrass. 

Listen, and you '11 enjoy it too. 

117 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 
Let me know the worst. 

Bluegrass. 

Place, the little clearing in the darkened wood behind the 
hill. 

Whetstone. 

Why did n't you make it in the West, behind the Rocky 
Mountains ? 

Bluegrass. 
Time, one hour before sunrise. 

Whetstone. 

Why did n't you make it next year, in the dark of the 
moon ? Major, I feel that my blood will be upon your 
so-called head. 

Bluegrass. 

Not if my head can save you, and I think it can. With 
some acuteness, I secured Scythe as attendant surgeon, in 
case of an accident, and he has already gone to the spot 
with all his surgical implements of healing. [^Rooster crows. 

Whetstone. 
What 's that ? Is 't the signal ? 

Bluegrass. 

Listen ! now for the weapons. 

ii8 



of Cornville. 

Whetstone. 
Don't, Major, don't ! 

Bluegrass. 

With some archness in archery, I first chose crossbows as 
most fitting for lovers' duels, but abandoned them as too 
crosswise. Blunderbusses I rejected, as too blundering for 
us ; and, noting the weakness of our enemy in diction, I at 
last chose dictionaries, big and unabridged, and made by the 
most celebrated word-smiths. 

Whetstone. 

Dictionaries ! Did you say dictionaries? Major, now 
my anger is reviving. Now, by all that 's terrible, I '11 fight 
till there 's not a leaf or lid left. Why, the first blow I give 
him shall be a jaw-breaker. He '11 think himself smitten, 
like the Philistines, by a jawbone. Major, get me a diction- 
ary with iron clasps ; but one is not enough, my boy. I '11 
strike him with two dictionaries. [Rooster crows. 

Bluegrass. 

Erroneous hero ! You are in honor bound not to deal 
him any blows with vulgar material-bound paper. 

Whetstone. 
How then, my boy, how then ? 

Bluegrass. 

Listen to the conditions of the duel. At a distance of two 

119 



The Merchant Prince 

paces, you and Fopdoodle, each aided by his respective 
second, will each respectively select, for each fire from his 
inexhaustible dictionary or armory, one animal noun for his 
projectile, and one adjective, — for your adjective is your 
gunpowder to your bullet of a noun. These two, to wit : 
one animal noun and one adjective, each of you will form 
into a cartridge, or epithet, and at the word Fire each will 
fire it at his adversary. 

Whetstone. 

Bless you, my boy, we are saved ! You shall always be 
editor of the Eagle. My boy, you must have known I did n't 
want to kill him. Major, stand by me to the last. 

Bluegrass. 

I'll doit. I am a connoisseur in epithets; and your 
animal noun with adjective conjoined is a terrible weapon. 
O book, how like a poet thou art ! — in pleasant moods full 
of balmlike words, but in anger javelined like a porcupine. 
Be thou a cage filled to the cover's brim with fierce animal 
nouns which fret their paper cage of leaves to pounce upon 
the enemy. Remember, at each fire call him some out- 
rageous animal, and exploit the animal with an explosive 
adjective. 

Whetstone. 

I '11 do It. The gourd-headed baboon ! 

[^Rooster crows. 

120 



of Cornville. 

Bluegrass. 

Good ; a very fine line shot! But don't waste your ammu- 
nition here. Wait until you get your enemy into close 
quarters, and meanwhile steady your nerves and tongue. 
Remember, no faltering of the tongue. 

Whetstone. 
How goes the night outdoors ? 

Bluegrass. 

All 's well ! Now shall I behold the first genuine literary 
duel ever fought on this magnificent star of ours, while the 
sun trails his sanguinary banners along the eastern sky. 

[Rooster crows. 
Whetstone. 

Why does he crow so often ? 

Bluegrass. 

It is the martial bird of morn, brave chanticleer — the 
vocal lighthouse of the dawn. Six times has the rooster 
crowed. [Rooster again crows.~\ And yet again he crows, — 
seven times, mysterious number ! With crimson comb and 
whetted spurs, he sniffs this duel from his lofty perch in the 
heavenly balcony. 

Whetstone. 
How says the time ? 

Bluegrass. 
It lacks but little of the hour. We '11 prove no laggards 

121 



The Merchant Prince 

on the field of honor. Come on. Make haste ! Away, 
away, or we '11 be late to join the fray ! We '11 get our 
lanterns on the way. [^Rooster crows.^ [^Exeunt. 



Scene II. — J clearing in a wood. Scythe, luith lantern^ 
arranging surgical instru?nents. 

Enter^ running., Fopdoodle, attended by Tom, his valet and 
second.^ carrying lantern and dictionary. 

Fopdoodle. 
What man is this ? 

Tom. 

Good master, this is the attendant surgeon, agreed upon 
by Whetstone's second and myself, your own second and 
humble valet. 

Fopdoodle. 

Kind Mr. Surgeon, if we two fall at once, save me first; 
and I promise you a great reward from father's patrimony. 
And as our wounds we do refer to you, I move to make you 
referee. Kind Mr, Surgeon, prescribe for me a breathing 
spell. [Scythe examines him ivith glass.'\ Tom, my man, 
stand firm ! For as we crossed through yonder green and 
peaceful field, by some ominous mischance a sleeping, low- 
bred, fiery bull arose, with eyes big as our lanterns, filled 
with the flaming fat of animal fury. He chased ; and as 
we fled, I thought I was pursued by an infuriated animal 
noun. Oh, doctor, prescribe for me a breathing spell. 

122 



of Cornville. 

Tom. 

Good master, here is your dictionary, if you 'd take a 
breathing spell. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Unlettered ruffian, uncompassionate fool, do I clothe and 
fee you for this ? Hand me my spirit of hartshorn to brace 
my spirits up. ^Ushig smelling-bottle. ~\ Had I but had this 
spirit of hartshorn in my nostrils, I would have had the 
spirit to face a thousand bulls. Where 's the infuriated 
dictionary .? 

Tom. 

Here it is, good master. 

FoPDOODLE. 

Turn to the fearful B's ; I know some good shots in 
the B's. 

Tom. 

Here they are, good master. 

FoPDOODLE. 

Do we yet espy the foe ? 

Scythe {^looking through glass"]. 

I see him coming over the brow of the hill, and he'll be 
here in a wink. 

FoPDOODLE. 

Alas, if I should fall ! 

123 



The Merchant Prince 

Tom. 
I '11 raise you up again. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Base horizontal knave, thou canst again raise up my body, 
but not my character. 

Enter Whetstone and Bluegrass, with lantern 
and dictionary. 

Bluegrass. 

A brave salutation, gentlemen ! We vi'ill pursue the code 
of honor where it does not conflict with us. Let the 
principals advance, and shake hands in the usual way, to 
show that they in humor and honor are not ill. [Whet- 
stone atid FoPDOODLE advance and shake hands. To Tom] 
We must compare size, weight, and calibre of type. \^They 
compare dictionaries. ~\ The weapons are of the same edition. 
Now for choice of positions; but there are two esteemed 
objects in the heavens, — Mars and the moon; for them 
we'll toss up. \_To Tom] Head or tail? [Tosses up 
a coin.~\ 

Tail. 



Tom. 
Bluegrass. 



Head it is. I 've won ! I place Fopdoodle with the 
moon in his face, and Whetstone with the planet Mars at 
his back. [Measures off two paces and places the principals^ 
In affairs of honor, delay is a vice, despatch a virtue. I pro- 

124 



of Cornville. 

pose, between each fire, thirty seconds for loading, that after 
the words, One, two, — fire ! each one shall fire, and that 
this continue until one be prostrated ; also that Surgeon 
Scythe give the word and be referee. But we'll try to pre- 
serve a gentlemanly harmony. 

Tom. 
We agree. 

\_Each second supports his principal^ and Scythe tiines 
them with his watch. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Tom, my man, turn to the C's ; I know a terrible animal 
noun in the C's. 

Bluegrass. 

Here, Mayor Whetstone, is your adjective for gunpowder, 
— Patagonian. 

Whetstone. 

I '11 take bat for a bullet. 

Bluegrass. 

Now, by the planet Mars, you have chosen the most 
unearthly bullet in the whole menagerie of animal nouns. 

FoPDOoDLE [to Tom]. 
I 've got it. I now turn to U for my gunpowder. 

Tom. 
Master, I have no gunpowder. 

125 



The Merchant Prince 

FOPDOODLE. 

You unlettered utensil, you ! The letter U. 

Scythe. 
Time! One, two, — fire! 

Whetstone. 
Patagonian bat ! 

FoPDOODLE [^pronouncifig calf with broad sound of letter a]. 

Unutterable calf! 

Bluegrass. 

A foul ! a foul ! I claim a foul. 

Scythe. 
Upon what do you base your foul ? 

Bluegrass. 

Upon the letter a in calf. In place of rightly firing calf 
with the Italian sound of a^ as in bah, he wrongly fired calf 
with a broad. Therefore he fired a broadside, with sound the 
same as in ball, I claim the foul is sound. 

Scythe. 

Let me examine your weapon [^examining Fopdoodle's 
dictionary'^. I plainly see a calf with two little dots like bud- 
ding horns above the letter a, denoting the Italian sound ; 
and as you wrongfully fired broad a, and as broad a in your 

126 



of Cornville. 

weapon is denoted by two little dots below the a, I rule you 
struck below the belt, and hence a foul. 

Bluegrass. 
First foul for Fopdoodle. 

Whetstone \_aside\. 
See him tremble. 

Fopdoodle S^aude~\. 
I struck him badly. 

Scythe. 
Gentlemen, are your honors satisfied? 

Whetstone. 
Never ! War to the word knife ! 

Fopdoodle. 

Never ! War to the word hilt ! 

Scythe. 

Then sadly be it said : Reload. I '11 see if there is any 
blood on yonder red and warlike Mars. \_Looks at Mars with 
glass^ while the others reload from dictionaries. '\ Time ! One, 
two, — fire ! 

Fopdoodle. 
Hyperborean ibex I 

127 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 
Parabolical goose ! 

Scythe. 

Are you satisfied ? 

FOPDOODLE. 

Never ! War to the word knife ! 

Whetstone. 
Never ! War to the word hilt ! 

Scythe. 
Reload. [They reload.'\ Time! One, two, — fire! 

FoPDOODLE. 

Impecunious porcupine ! 

Whetstone. 
Hypothecated buzzard ! 

[Lightning and thunder^ while Scythe examines the sky 
with glass. 

FoPDOODLE. 

Listen, Tom ! I think I hear the police ! The police ! 
Let us be going ! 

Bluegrass. 

Hold ! 'T is but the thunder, heaven's police drilling 
near the distant horizon. Let their lanterns flash and their 
clubs smash the sky, but this duel shall go on. 

128 



of Cornville. 

Scythe. 
Gentlemen, reload. \They reload.~\ Time! One, two, — 

FOPDOODLE. 

Hold I My tongue slipped. 

Tom. 
And the lightning 's blown my lantern out. 

\_Lightmng and thunder. 

Bluegrass ^re-lighting Tom's lantern'^ . 

I hope I may re-light your lantern without an explosion. 
A fearful storm is brewing, but we must make them fight until 
one falls. 

Tom. 

I '11 stand by my master. 

Scythe. 
Time I One, two, — fire ! 

Whetstone. 
Categorical catamount ! 

FoPDOODLE. 

Bog-trotting bull-frog ! 

Bluegrass. 

Foul, foul, a most terrible and bulldozing foul, — a double- 
barrelled fowling-piece ; a two-bullet foul. 
9 129 



The Merchant Prince 

Tom. 
A bull-frog is no fowl. 

Bluegrass. 
A most naked and unfeathered fowl. 

Scythe. 

Upon what purely scientific facts do you now perch your 
alleged fowl ? 

Bluegrass. 

Upon the rail between bull and frog. Bull-frog is a com- 
pound animal noun, composed of one bull and one frog, 
connected by a hyphen, or narrow ligament, like the Siamese 
twins, — two animals in one. I ask judgment. 

\_Lightning and thunder. 
Scythe. 

Listen to my decision ; for though it should rain bull- 
frogs, I '11 decide by analysis. The difference lies between 
the grammatical bull-frog and the purely animal bull-frog. 
Grammar does not concern the animal bull-frog, but has 
much to do with the word bull-frog. The purely animal 
bull-frog is manifestly not a fowl ; but inasmuch as by the 
rules only one animal noun is allowed at a shot, and where- 
as the grammatical bull-frog is compounded of two animals 
linked by a hyphen, I declare them a chain-shot, disallowed 
in civilized warfare, and a foul of the worst description. 

Tom. 

Good master, he says 't is a foul. 

130 



of Cornville. 

FOPDOODLE. 

We 're in bad odor with this referee. 1 smell foul play. 
Give me my spirit of hartshorn, or I faint. 

Tom. 

Here it is, good master. 

[FoPDOODLE smells of hartshorn^ and Whetstone 
drinks out of ajiask. 

Scythe. 
Time! One, two, — fire! 

FoPDOODLE. 

Humpbacked sham ! 

Whetstone. 
Infamous liar ! 

FoPDOODLE. 

You man in buckram I You rambling sham ! You blue 
sham, three-cornered sham, catalectic sham I You panting, 
rampant sham, black sham, white sham, speckled sham I 

Bluegrass [to Scythe]. 

Stop him ! He has opened the menagerie. Foul, foul ! 
He has fired a whole sham battery. 

Whetstone. 
I '11 slay him on the spot. You catacomb ! you catas- 
trophic, cataleptic, catacoustic cat! Pooh! you spotted 



The Merchant Prince 

poodle, you freckled poodle, you yellow-brindled poodle ! 
dogfish ! you dogmatic-dogwood-doggerel dog. 

\_Lightning and thunder, 

Tom [^supporting Fopdoodle]. 

Good master, bear up. 'T is only a shower of cats and 
dogs. 

Fopdoodle [/hinting']. 

Give me a drink of tiger's blood ! 

Bluegrass [to Whetstone], 

See, you have struck him ; he is falling. 

[Fopdoodle fails, clasping his dictionary. 

Scythe [to Tom]. 

Run quickly. Catch me a sheep in yonder field. By 
transfusing blood from its veins to his, I '11 make the weak 
brave, the famt alive. [Taking up a surgical instrument. '\ 
Now, great Science, help me ! 

Tom. 
Good master, I go to get the sheep. [Exit Tom. 

Bluegrass. 

Long live and let live the literary duel ! 

[Lightning and thunder. The scene closes while Whet- 
stone, Bluegrass, and Scythe gather around 
Fopdoodle, administering to him. 
132 



of Cornville. 

Scene III. — The Glen of Ferns. Midday. 
Enter Ideal. 

Ideal. 

See how great Nature lavishes in this 

Hard wrinkle in the globe a subtle and 

Refining power, as if it were the open 

Volume of the earth with fern-clad cliffs 

For lettered pages. Here the glad sun comes 

In his most favoring hour, with impress of 

A God, in splendor sparkling down the glen. 

Ye ferns that spring along these cliffs with light 

And airy grace, see but my Violet, 

And ye shall take a new and tender charm. 

Yon rainbow, in the sportive mist above 

The cascade glowing, well a brighter bow 

Might grow when it doth catch the arch words of 

Bright Violet. Ye berries crimsoning 

On yonder bushes, were ye roseate 

As are the ripe red lips of Violet, 

Wise men a holiday would take, and go 

A-berrying. E'en weeds along the clifF 

Were like some pretty fault in Violet, — 

Sweet contrast growing but for beauty's foil. 

Be free and happy, all created things ; 

Ye singing birds, your melodies attune ; 

And ye, blithe squirrels — Peeping Toms of trees - 



The Merchant Prince 

From out your leafy coverts peep, and I '11 

Not jealous be. 

Enter Violet, at top of rustic stairway. 
Ay, there she comes, fair Violet ! 

Violet. 
Heigh-ho ! Why art thou down so low ? 

Ideal. 

That I may upward gaze at thee. For as 
One in the deep bottom of a well, above 
May see a star at midday, so do I 
See thee from the deep bottom of this glen. 

Violet. 
With fancy thou dost blithely scale this stair. 
As doth some heavenly singer ; yet thou seest 
Thou art still at the bottom of the glen. 

Ideal. 
Let us be like two notes in music blent ; 
Thou high, I low; yet both in sweet accord. 

Violet. 
Truly, thou art my Ideal. But, alack ! 
I've called thee by thy name. 

Ideal. 

Give thou it me, and I will bear no other. 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 
Thou hadst it long ago. 

Ideal. 
To be thy Ideal more real were 
Than to achieve all other reals. 

Violet l_arch/y'\. 
Alas ! the hard vicissitudes of life! 

Ideal. 
Why, how now, Violet ? I '11 bear them all. 

Violet. 

All hard vicissitudes ? 

Ideal. 
All. 

Violet. 
I have an uncle. 

Ideal. 

If he's a hard vicissitude, I '11 bear him too. 

Violet. 
I'll go tell my uncle. \^Going.^ 

Ideal. 

Nay, hold. Within thy words, as in the cinctured 
Filaments of lace thou wear'st, I see the fine 
Transparent tracery of gossamer 
Designs. In such a web I 'd fain be caught. 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet. 
And I 'd fain catch thee. 

Ideal. 

Come, let us walk within this pleasant glen j 

And if we weary, — on a mossy bank, 

In the cool shade of interlacing leaves,-^ 

We '11 watch the gentle coquetry between 

A burning sunbeam and a shaded fern. 

There 's not a fern-leaf, berry, blade of grass. 

Nor flower, but I '11 gather it for thee. 

If at thy feet it grow, then I '11 kneel there ; 

If higher, in a crevice of the cliff, 

Together we will reach for it, and in 

The touching of our finger-tips it shall 

Part company with earth in ecstasy. 

And if, above, thou dost but gladly view 

That most sky-kissing flower, the heavenly bluebell, 

Which with transparent hue embellishes 

The summit of the cliff, why, I '11 climb there. 

Violet. 
And leave me in the lone recesses of the glen? 

Ideal. 

If thou didst not detain me with thine eyes; 
For if, in climbing upward, I looked back, 
I 'd see the sky and bluebell in thine eyes. 
And so return to thee. Come, Violet, come. 
136 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 

Ah, me ! See what a deep, deep stair it is. 
[_Jside^ Aloof the bluebell, lovers joy to see. 
[^Jloud^ I '11 not descend. 

Ideal. 

Then I '11 invoke 
The spirit of this lovely glen, that dwells 
In yonder rock, to aid in my petition. 

[ Turns and calls to rock on further side of glen. 
Come, Violet! 

\_An echo is heard repeating Violet. 

Violet. 
I think I hear my uncle calling; 
I must go. Adieu ! 

Ideal. 
Think not so. I but now called Violet, 
And what thou heard'st was the far echo of 
Thy name, that 's borne by yonder rock from out 
This cheering vale to listening hills beyond. 
It is a wanton, merry rock that doth 
Delight to sweetly hold discourse in doubling 
Of thy name. But as it hath no beard 
Upon its face, except a fringe of ferns, 
I '11 not be jealous. For such gentle service, 
Violet, give not the rock the hardness 
Of thy uncle's heart ; but stay. 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet. 
Between thee and the rock, I almost am persuaded. 

Ideal. 

Sweet Violet, do not go, — be persuaded 

Altogether ; for although this is 

A sheltered glen, with pleasant sunshine tempered, 

Yet from thy coldness I would perish as 

A homeless midnight traveller, embedded 

'Mid bewildering snowbanks. 

Violet. 

Say not so ; for if thou, my dear Ideal, 
On such a cruel, frosty bank lay dying. 
And I were Violet beneath the snow, 
As violets do often grow, I 'd call 
On all the powers in stars above and in 
The earth below to move the frosty barrier. 
I '11 come to thee. 

\_The scene closes while Violet descends the stair ^ and 
Ideal advances to meet her. 



r38 



of Cornville. 



Act the Fifth. 

Scene I. — A room at the Dolphin Inn. Evening. 

Enter Whetstone with Bluegrass in black dress as his 
shadow. Each with guitar and song-book. 

Bluegrass. 

A day and night, — and now another day hath waned for 
our recuperation ; and our adventures have flown on light- 
ning wings to Cornville. Now do we start on new emprise. 

Whetstone. 
Major Bluegrass, this serenade must be played on the 
hard-pan. Put me through to-night, and I '11 make you half- 
owner of the Cornville Eagle. 

Bluegrass. 

Trust me, I '11 be your musical secretary ! With the 
Eagle and Ninon, I could soar through life like a bird. 

Whetstone. 

And I '11 soar with Violet. Why, hello ! I 've forgotten 
all about Susan. Where '11 I leave Susan ? 

139 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 

Susan! Your housekeeper ! Why, what takes you back 
to Cornville at such a sky-crisis as this ? The great point 
in a flight of romance is never to approach earth. Susan! 
Why, Susan will tarry here below and superintend the 
cuisine, so that you and Violet may have a warm repast when 
you come down from your sky-parlor. 

Whetstone. 

I wonder what Susan will say when I bring home my 

bride. 

Bluegrass. 

As one good man should say to another, first bridle your 
bride. 

Whetstone. 

Why, Major, Susan and I were young together, and we 
loved, or thought we did. She wanted to marry, I wanted to 
wait ; consequence, compromise. I engaged her as my 
housekeeper. There 's romance for you I 

Bluegrass. 
*T is an ancient parallel. 

Whetstone. 
In our serenade, what shall I do ? 

Bluegrass. 
The guitar you hold you cannot play ; hence I '11 do the 
mechanical upon the strings, while you twit the circumam- 

140 



of Cornville, 

bient air from the bridge musical of your instrument. And 
if you 'd prove me with a double burden, I '11 bear both 
words and music ; in which event you '11 give the color and 
visible gesture of description. Stand you beneath some 
close-leaved tree, where the night overlaps, and I '11 be con- 
cealed near you in the shrubbery. Later, I '11 emerge 
behind you, as your true shadow. 

Whetstone. 

All right, I '11 give the motions. Now, let's see what we 
have in the song-book. \_Opening song-book.'\ Here 's the 
Midnight S renade ; and Beauteous Lady I Adore Thee. 
That 's business. Here 's a whole grist of meeting songs : 
[reading^ Meet Me at the Lane ; Meet Me by Moonlight ; 
Meet Me, Darling, in the Dell ; Meet Me down by the 
Sea ; Meet Me in the Arbor ; Meet Me in the Twilight. 
Where '11 this end ? Meet Me 'neath the Slippery-Elm Tree. 
Meet Me in the Willow-Glen. Why, Major, the earth 
is covered with meeting-places. But wait ! \_Exafnining 
book and pondering.'] What book-carpenter did this work? 
Here's Black-Eyed Susan — [^j-;V^] Susan has brown eyes — 
\aloud'\ sandwiched between Paddle your own Canoe and the 
Pirates' Chorus. 

Bluegrass. 

He was a ship-carpenter who did his work ship-shape. 

Wh ETSTON e [reading'] . 

Comin' thro' the Rye, Comin' thro' the Rye, — that 

141 



The Merchant Prince 

sounds homelike. Major, my boy, sing and play while I 
act it. 

Bluegrass sings and plays Comin' thro' the Rye^ while 
Whetstone accompanies with pantomime. 

Bluegrass. 

Demosthenes the Athenian, being interrogated, replied 
that action makes the orator. I may add that it makes the 
singer. 

Whetstone. 

You 're right. [Examining song-book.] Here 's a whole 
nest of love-songs : Love, Beautiful Love ; Love in a 
Cottage ; Love Launched a Ferry-boat. 

Bluegrass. 
'T is not ferry-boat, but fairy boat. 

Whetstone [readingl. 

Love is at the Helm. 

Bluegrass. 
That's when love's at sea. 

Whetstone [reading'j. 
Love is like the Morning Dew. 

Bluegrass. 

We 're approaching land again. 

142 



of Cornville. 

Whetstone [readingj. 
Love's Perfect Cure. 

Bluegrass. 
We don't need it. 

Whetstone [r-eading]. 
Love's the Greatest Plague. 

Bluegrass. 

Hold on ! yes, vi^e do. 

Whetstone [readingj. 

Love Me Little, Love Me Long; Love, Love, oh, what 
is Love ? Major, my boy, that settles it. We must find 
out. Hurrah ! I feel like a new man ! Let 's be going ! 
If I fail, Northlake shall not have a dollar. Violet 's the 
only collateral he can put up. If I don't get her, I '11 take 
the next train to Cornville and marry Susan on the spot. 
She's been a good housekeeper to me these many years ; 
and once when I was sick she bathed my feet in hot water 
and mustard, and put a hot flannel around — I think it was 
my throat ; and her elder-blossom tea can't be beaten. 

Bluegrass. 
Do you falter ? 

Whetstone. 

No ; I '11 have what I want. You remember the bay 

H3 



The Merchant Prince 

colt that cost me five thousand dollars ? People thought I 
was a fool, but I was n't. 

Bluegrass. 
You were a horse diplomat. 

Whetstone. 

Exactly. I saw points, and now the colt has a great 
record. I see points about that girl Violet that no one else 
sees. She 's an extraordinary girl, a thoroughbred, and I '11 
back my judgment with my money. 

Bluegrass. 
What if she don't take kindly to you ? 

Whetstone. 

Watch me closely, and you '11 see me win her to-night. 
What 's the use of money, if you can't get — points, my boy, 
when you want them ? And yet — 

Bluegrass. 

And yet what ? 

Whetstone. 

And yet Susan has points too. She can roast a goose 

splendidly, — and that elder-blossom tea I But enough of 

this. Away to serenade. 

[_Exeunt. 



144 



of Cornville. 

Scene 11. -^ J dlning-hall in Northlake's Villa. PoMPEY 
and Hannibal arranging dining-table. 

PoMPEY [}nerrily~\. 
Yah ! yah ! I say, Hannibal, Lake Shore 's g'wone up. I 
make pile money on dat happy shore, shure. Stocks am de 
ting to put de money in de stockin'. 

Hannibal \^gloomily~\. 
So ! so ! I lose pile money on dat Hudson Ribber. My 
banker telegram fo' moh margin every fifteen minutes fo' 
foh hours. De agony of dem hours I can nebber tell you, 
Pompey. De telegram-wire, and de tongue of lightnin', 
holler, Moh margin! Hudson Ribber g'wone down, — moh 
margin ! I and de ole woman scrape and scrape, and empty 
de big stockin' bank dat de old woman hab under de bed fo' 
de rainy day ; still it holler, Moh margin ! And den de old 
woman raise de washtub 'gainst her lawful husband. I 
nebber tink dat ribber railroad could sink so fast. Pompey, 
it am de fashion to condumdole wid your misfortunate neigh- 
bor ; how much you condumdole wid me, Pompey ? 

Pompey. 
You hear me, chile ! I lose moh money on dat Hudson 
Ribber dan you ebber see. 

Hannibal. 

Why, honey, how am dat ? You hab no Hudson Ribber 

stock. 

10 145 



The Merchant Prince 

POMPEY. 

I was g'wone down de ribber on de canal-boat, when I 
losed it. Yah, yah ! 

Hannibal. 

Pompey, you am too friv'lous and vis'nary fo' de bus'ness 
man, — fo' de stock op'rator. 

Pompey. 
Hannibal, I hab de call on you. Now let us confabulate 
togedder like sensible people. Ober two hours ago, I see 
de mess'nger boy bring de telegram. It ware from Mr. 
Northlake's banker, and it read : You made five hundred 
thousand dollars to-day on Lake Shore stock. Now you hab 
seen Mr. Northlake cast down, way down, — tremendously, 
moh dan usual, fo' 'bout a month, — way down, 'cause he 
lose all his own and Miss Violet's fortune speculatin', — way 
down ; but when he read dat, he smile like de little chile ; 
and he say to me : Pompey, dere '11 be a surprise-party yere 
to-night. Spread de banquet fo' de guests. And now we 
doin' it, ain't we .? 

Hannibal. 

I 'm glad ob dat, fo' Miss Violet's sake, and de tings she 

gibs me ; but dis am de point I must determinate before de 

limbs work easy : Ware am de margin g'wone dat I don't 

hab, — de one thousand seven hundred and ninety-seven 

cents ? 

Pompey. 

Dat, chile, am g'wone ware de weasel 's g'wone wid de 
egg- 146 



of Cornville. 

Hannibal. 
Dat am a big weasel to get away wid one thousand seven 
hundred and ninety-seven cents. I'll write my banker, 
shure, in de mornin' 'bout de wrong p'ints he gibs me. 
Dat 's my p'intin' 'pinion 'bout him. Maybe he'll loan me 
it back again, — dat one thousand seven hundred and ninety- 
seven cents. [^Exeunt. 



Scene III. — The lawn in front o/'Northlake's Villa. 

Enter Whetstone and Bluegrass, ivith guitars., stealthily 
advancing through the shrubbery., and appearing upon the lawn. 

Bluegrass. 

Now do we stand upon the green lawn of fresh enterprise. 
Stand yourself 'neath yonder tree, and fix your eyes on the 
balcony [Whetstone takes position accordingly^., while I, from 
behind this green projecting wing of shrubbery, project our 
ripening song \jnoving behind the shrubbery"^. First, our song 
of salutation, with fresh words. 

Bluegrass, under cover of the shrubbery., sings and plays., while 
Whetstone accompanies with pantomime. 

The moon is on the hills, 

The glow-worm 's in the grass ; 

The nightingales have bills. 
The owls have singing-class. 

H7 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass ceases singing while Whetstone continues 
pantomime. 

Whetstone. 
Give me more words ! 

Bluegrass. 
I 've forgotten the rest, and therefore take a rest. 

Whetstone. 

Look ! the door is opening. \_Door partly opens, and 
PoMPEY shows his head.'j Great thunder — a black walnut ! 

Bluegrass. 

Vanish, thou black January ! [Pompey vanishes.'] We '11 
strike a mellower melody, and yonder balcony shall bear 
fruitage brighter than October. The prize of the trouba- 
dours in the courts of love was the golden violet. 

Whetstone. 

Give me no more sentimental nonsense. Sing a song of 
business. 

Bluegrass. 

That 's clever. I feel the inspiration. I '11 improvise a 
matter-of-fact descriptive ballad illustrating the moral maxim. 
Business before love. 

148 



of Cornville. 

Bluegrass sings and plays; Whetstone accompanies with 
pantomime^ and joins in singing last line of each stanza. 

Katie and Jack got up at morn, 
And she came with two ears of corn, 
And he came with his brassy horn, 
To drive the ducks to market, O ! 

Now Katie's ducks were white as snow, 
But Jackie's ducks were black as crow ; 
So o'er the hills away they go, 
Driving the ducks to market, O ! 

Then Jackie blew his brassy horn. 
And Katie shelled her ears of corn, 
While the rooster crowed upon the thorn, 
Driving the ducks to market, O ! 

Now Katie loved, and so did he. 
And he his horn hung on a tree; 
Oh, they were glad as the busy bee, 
Keeping the ducks from market, O ! 

The moon fell down behind a hill ; 
The sun winked at the miller's mill; 
The lark got up upon his quill. 

Keeping the ducks from market, O ! 

Alas ! alas ! green grew the grass. 
The duckies, hunting garden sass. 
Fell in a trap. Alas ! alas ! 

Keeping the ducks from market, O ! 
149 



The Merchant Prince 

Then he cried chuckie, duckie, O ! 
Then she cried duckie, chuckie, O ! 
But oh, alas ! it was no go. 

Driving the ducks to market, O ! 

MORAL. 

The moral's plain as the bumble-bee, 
Clear on the top of a tall tree. 
Oh, wait ! if lovers you may be ; 

First drive your ducks to market, O ! 

Enter Violet upon the balcony. 

Violet. 

I plainly see there 's business in this night. \_Percelving 
Whetstone.] Why, 't is the self-same knight that did 
bedight another night, but far more musical. There 's a sad 
want of unity here, as no music, however rich, can me unite 
to yonder knight. \_Jddressing Whetstone.] Do my two 
eyes behold that Mayor Whetstone, of Cornville, near the 
capital of Illinois, called Hercules after his grand-uncle 
Hercules, who drove the Indians down the Mississippi } 

Whetstone. 

You do behold with two, unless with one you kindly wink 
upon me, which I half believe you do. 

Violet. 

Is thy meaning double or single ? 

150 



of Cornville. 

Whetstone. 

Sweet Miss Violet, I have been a man with an eye single 
to business, but who would double his business. 

Bluegrass. 
Don't give her any quandaries. 

Violet. 
Why, thou hast changed thy voice ! 

Whetstone \_asicie]. 
Major, you rascal, assume my voice ! 

Bluegrass [assuming Whetstone's voice]. 

Sweet Violet, it is the air, that 's sometimes tuneful and 
sometimes not, that doth effect the change. 

Violet. 
Thou art an artful man. 

Bluegrass [assuming Whetstone's voicej. 
Sweet Violet, 't is even noted so. 

Whetstone [^5/V^] . 
Confound you, 't is not so ! 

Bluegrass [assuming Whetstone's voice'J. 
I meant to say the air is so. 

151 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet. 
If thou sowest the air with so, so, thy harvest will be no, 
no. The air upon this balcony well balances its fruitage. 

Whetstone \_asidej. 
You villain, we 're caught ! 

Violet. 
I '11 not complain if thou wilt sing me another song. 

Whetstone [asidej. 
Major, you rascal, another song! 

Bluegrass [^aside'\. 
I don't know any more. 

Whetstone \_kneeling']. 

Sweet Miss Violet, upon this green grass I vow to love 
you as long as grass grows. Oh, Miss Violet, you 're too 
young to know what you may lose. You may lose the real 
Merchant Prince of Cornville, near the capital of Illinois, 
called Hercules after his grand-uncle Hercules, who drove 
the real Indians reeling down the real Mississippi. 

Violet. 

Rise, thou mighty chief of merchandise. I set much store 
by thee. 

Whetstone [?-lsing a?jd aside]. 

Major, my boy, did you hear that ? 

152 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 

Great Prince, it is my humor to be enamoured of thy 
union of business and romance. \_Calls to Ninon within. 
Ninon enters. Bluegrass leaves the shrubbery and goes behi?ul 
Whetstone, as his shadoiu.'] Take no leaves from my 
shrubbery. What is 't that 's back of thee. Prince ? 

Whetstone. 
'T is but the shadow cast from me by the moonlight. 

Violet. 
The tree 'neath which thou standest is cedrine, and its 
laced boughs, filtering the moonlight, cast an interlacing 
shadow on the lawn ; upon this plot, now, in part, a deeper 
shadow rests, like shadow upon shadow. 

Bluegrass \jings in recitative^ and Whetstone accompanies 
luith panto?nime~\ . 

'T is but a shadow, 't is but a shadow cast from me by the 
moonlight. 

Ninon. 

I hear ze voice of ze shadow, ze pretty shadow. Oh, 
zat I had ze shadow up on ze balcony ! Charmant ! 

Violet. 

Fie, Ninon, what wouldst thou with the fleeting shadow 
of this Merchant Prince .? Thou hadst not even the shadow 
of sentiment. 



The Merchant Prince 

Ninon. 
Dear mistress, I see ze rainbow in ze shadow. Superbe ! 

Bluegrass [^asidel. 
I 've been too long a shadow. 

Whetstone [^j/V^]. 
You rascal, make yourself shorter ! 

Bluegrass. 

Black slave that I am, thus to serve this merchant prince 
of merchandise ! 

Whetstone. 

I 'm a solid man, and my shadow lies solid. 

Ninon. 
Poor shadow, come off ze cold, cold ground ! 

Bluegrass [_sings in recitative^ and Whetstone accompanies 
zvith paniomime'\. 

The shadow is slave to the substance. Who can separate 
them? None. Who can separate them? None, — none 
but Ninon. 

Violet. 

Ninon, 'tis marvellously good, — but we must go. l_SIozv/y 
going.'\ Good-night alike to substance and shadow. Yet, 
stay ! [^Jdvancing.^ Didst ever study arithmetic? 

154 



of Cornville. 

Bluegrass [sings in recitative^ and Whetstone accompanies 
with pantomime~\. 

Addition I have at my finger-tips. [Counting notes upon 
his guitar.'] One, two, three, four, five. Multiphcation I 
have by heart. 

Whetstone [aside]. 

Throw in all the multiplication-table. 

Bluegrass [sings in recitative.^ and Whetstone accompanies 
with pantomime] . 

Come, come, let us learn, let us sing. Come, come, let 
us learn the multiplication-table. Come, let us sing the 
multiplication-table. 

Violet. 

Thou art too multitudinous, and wert born for the opera ; 
yet I will give thee a problem that thou shalt solve, not 
with thy digits, but with thy pedals. I will teach thee 
subtraction, and separate thy shadow from thy substance by 
plane trigonometry. 

Whetstone [aside]. 
Major, steady ! Listen for the click of the trigger. 

Violet. 
A triangle is a sweet instrument in the mathematics of 
love; for oft, about the first of April nights, I've watched 
the merry wild geese in the sky flying northward in musical 
and far-sounding triangles. 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 

I know them well. I have one in my brass band in 

Cornville. 

Violet. 

And yet triangulation by moonlight were a pleasant death, 
betwixt substance and shadow. Ninon, girl, quick ! bring 
me my bronze-covered trigonometry. [Exit Ninon. 

Whetstone. 

Hold on ! There must be some mistake here. Please 
don't pull any trigger on us ! 

Bluegrass [(^wV^J. 
And make angels of us I 

Whetstone. 
Hold on, Miss Violet ! I don't want to be an angel yet. 

Violet. 

There 's no fairer weapon than a book, and I '11 make no 
angel of thee. 

Bluegrass [aside'\. 

Let's cap the climax and capitulate. 

Re-enter NiNON, with book. 

Ninon. 

Mistress Violet, here is ze book. 

156 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 

I do not need it now. My memory serves me as well. 
Prince, fear not ; trigonometry is a peaceful art that maids 
may practice, and thou beneath my patient yoke shalt help 
me draw this triangle. One side thereof shall be betwixt 
thy stationed shadow and myself, another 'twixt thy shadow 
and thyself, and the base side thereof shall be the distance 
'twixt thee and me, — whose baseness shall increase if it 
decrease. \_Pauses. 

Ninon. 

Kind mistress, wilt thou have ze book? 

Violet. 

No book can help me. Now do I pause \^pausing\^ for in 
this triangle one angle is obtuse and two acute ; but my 
good angel shall help me. 'T is better to be right than be 
acute; therefore it shall be a right-angled triangle. [To 
Whetstone.] Hence move you backward in the light. 
[Whetstone moves bachuard.] But also from your right. 
l^He moves from his right.'\ Ninon, girl, see, the shadow 
doth not follow ! 

Bluegrass. 

Now from this angle do I see my angel. 

Ninon. 
I know ze shadow, ze rainbow, ze major, ze grand lover! 

157 



The Merchant Prince 

Violet [to Whetstone, who has moved until he forms a right 
angle with Bluegrass and Violet]. 

Move no further. Thy shadow keeps no pace with thee, 
and fear might well oppress a wondering maid less mathe- 
matical. Ninon, take and reflect upon yon shadow. 'Tis 
thy sum total, and a happy one. 

Enter Fopdoodle. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Dear Miss Violet, I 'm cured. The sheep's blood is all 
out of me. Pa says I may bring you home with me; and 
Ma says I am a lamb with a golden fleece, but I must not 
alarm them by bleating — ba-bah. I have been badly off — 
but I assure you I am shorn of my malady. There is no 
longer any impediment of speech to our happiness. Oh, 
how I want to be a noble husband ! Dear Miss Violet, may 
I, may I address you up so high, and I down so low ? May 
I .? May I ? 

Violet. 

Thou hast too many Mays in thy calendar, but thou 
mayst have a cold March ere thou comest to a timely May. 

FoPDOODLE. 

Star of Violet, come down to the earth. No, no. O 
earth of black, go up to the star of Violet. Yes, yes ; but 
the earth can't do it. What the deuce is the proper thing \ 
Well, well — 

158 



of Cornville. 

Violet. 

Thy question lies at bottom of a well loo deep for a maid 
to fathom, looking down from a balcony. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Dear Miss Violet, may I come up ? 

Violet. 
Thy ardor is alarming ! 

FoPDOODLE. 

Dear Miss Violet, my servant, Tom, has a ladder waiting 
for me, and I will climb to thee. Don't be alarmed ; I am 
harmless, O dazzling Violet ' 

Violet. 

Lovers should have in their hearts ladders of words better 
than any made with hands. Where is thy ladder? 

Fopdoodle. 

\_CaUing to Tom, around the corner'^ Tom, my man, bring 
your master love's ladder. 

Tom. 
Good master, I come. 

[Tom enters with a ladder and sets it against the wall. 

Fopdoodle. 
Don't let it slip ! Tom, my man, stand firm. \^He ascends. 

159 



The Merchant Prince 

Tom. 
I obey, good master. 

Bluegrass [^sings in recitative and plays'\. 

See ! see! the bold burglar. Help ! help ! He ascends ! 
he ascends ! 

FoPDOODLE [halting]. 

I — I — I, Augustus Fopdoodle, a bad burglar man ! I — I, 
the son of my father, Fopdoodle ! Pray, sweet Miss Violet, 
who are those rude, bad men? 

Bluegrass \_sings in recitative and plays]. 

We are a triangle, and we '11 make a parallelogram of you. 
We are — we are — an accurate right-angled triangle, and 
we'll make, we'll make, a p-a-r — par, a-1 — paral, 1-e-l — 
parallel, o — parallelo, g-r-a-m — parallelogram — of you. 

Whetstone. 
Get down off the ladder ! 

Fopdoodle. 

'T is the voice of the barbarian. Whetstone, — my animal 
noun, my enemy I 

Enter Jack. 

Jack [to Fopdoodle]. 

Put the ladder back in the garden ! 

1 60 



of Cornville. 

FOPDOODLE. 

Help me, good Jack ! 

[Jack, takes hold of ladder^ and Fopdoodle tumbles 
from It. 

Fopdoodle \ris'ing\. 

O dazzling Violet, my heart 's in ruins, and I 'm turned 
down. 

[Fopdoodle, Jack, and Tom move a short distance with 
ladder ; when Tom holds^ and Fopdoodle leans upon it. 

Enter Scythe, observing no one., and ivith hand-net.^ in pursuit 
of a night-beetle buzzing in the air. 

Scythe. 

Where flies the beetle, I pursue. There, I hear it now ! 
[77;^ buzz of a flying beetle is heard. '\ Lovely night-beetle ! 
Now you rise, and now you sink in curving flight. \^He 
pursues., listening., till the sound ceases7\ Now you 've rested on 
a night-blooming flower, and I 'II approach more softly than 
lover does a dreaming maid, nor wake with rude-paced step 
your finer sense of airy motion. \H.e advances cautiously in 
search.'\ 

Violet, 

See, Ninon ; he sees no one. In our time let maids be 
jealous. Science has its votaries as deeply rapt as love's 
suitors. 

n i6i 



The Merchant Prince 

Scythe [stoppings and observing the beetle on a flower^. 

What a rare and beautiful specimen for the Academy ! 
Since early eve I 've followed in the moonlight, through 
gardens, groves, and lawns. Now I '11 capture thee. [He 

throws his net over the flower^ but the beetle^ escaping^ flies aivay 
with a buzzing sound^ while he watches its course through his 
glassi] 'T is a peerless beetle, with wings of purple filigreed 
with gold and silver, which leave in sparkling flight a trail 
of light. I '11 follow it till morning, but I '11 capture it. 
[Exit Scythe in pursuit^ andiuithout having observed any one. 

Violet. 

Alack ! few lovers are so ardent in their pursuit, and some 
do lag most grievously. [To Ninon] One was to come 
to-night, beneath my window, whom I 've yet not seen. 

Ninon. 

But see, my mistress, something is coming up ze orchard 
path. 

Violet [intently observing"]. 

'T is distant, and yet 't is bigger than a man's hand. 
Why, Ninon, 't is a man. How near wouldst thou say he 
is? 

Ninon. 

Courage, my mistress ! he has ze fleet pace of ze 
lover. 

162 



of Cornville. 

Enter Ideal. 
Ideal. 

Dear Violet, in hastening by the orchard path to meet 
thee 'neath thy window, I was detained by thy sweet sisters 
of the field, which sprang along my path in myriad gayety, 
while I in blissful fantasy did win them ; and here, accom- 
panied with my love, I tender thee this bunch of golden- 
hearted violets. 

Violet. 

Why, 'tis my Ideal ! I'll ne'er forsake thee ; for were I 
to forsake my Ideal, that which were forsaken were better 
than that which were taken. To thee I '11 swift descend, 
and, descending, I 'II ascend. \^Exit Violet. 

Ninon \_ folloiuing'\. 

And I '11 descend to ze grand Major, for ze willing mis- 
tress makes ze willing maid. \_Exit Ninon. 

Whetstone. 
Major, I 'm for a flank movement. We 're in the heat of 
battle. Let's head them ofF! Let us on! She's a prize! 
She's a thoroughbred! What points she has! See the 
points and angles she gave us. She's worth all ! \^ETiter 
Violet and Ninon, who are joined by Ideal and Blue- 
grass.] She must not escape me ; I '11 throw in the Eagle. 

Bluegrass. 
Hold ! Not the Eagle. 

163 



The Merchant Prince 

Whetstone. 

The bank, the steeple, the stores, the Academy, my farm 
on Pearl Creek, — all, all, everything, — but I'll have her! 

Ninon. 
Dear Major, save ze Eagle ! 

Bluegrass. 
Fear not ; we '11 always share ze Eagle between us. 

Ninon. 

Ze grand Major will not share ze Eagle, — cut ze fedders 

ofF.? 

Bluegrass. 

Never, my child of innocence, never! We'll have one 
sparkling hearthstone, one sprightly boudoir, one full pano- 
plied Eagle. 

Ninon. 

Oui, oui, tres joli ! charmant ! 

Enter Northlake and Catharine. 

Northlake. 

Good friends, and Mayor Whetstone, welcome all ! 
It is a happy and auspicious time. 
This day the turn of Fortune's fickle wheel 
Hath brought a double gift of joy to me. 
This is my wife, from whom I was estranged, — 
164 



of Cornvilie. 

My Catharine, light of my youthful life, — 
Now reunited by a tenderer tie 
Than held our earlier years of wedded love. 
And this same day, by sudden rise of stocks 
On the Exchange, my fortune and my niece's 
Have been restored to us. Swiftly hath flown 
The time since when, upon a troublous day. 
Yon Merchant Prince and I together planned 
Without her leave, as men too oft have done, 
To violate a gentle maiden's heart. 
But she by maiden wit and nimble mirth 
Hath warded offhand foiled our ruder blows; 
For Nature gives to helpless maids such powers 
To guard their hearts as are undreamt of men. 
Let us be glad that naught but harmless mirth 
Hath been the kind result of deeper plans. 
For, friends, good mirth is better than fine gold ; 
'T is Heaven's mercy shown to weary man. 
And falls upon the heart of melancholy 
As fall refreshing dews on earth at eve. 
And as in sparkling drops of crystal dew 
Night-clouded Earth doth clasp the light of stars, 
So doth the heart of melancholy catch, 
In sparkling laughter, the light of merry hearts. 

Whetstone. 

Major, now for my revenge ! Send for my housekeeper, 

my castle-keeper. Order Susan. I '11 celebrate my nuptials 

on this sea-girt strand. 

165 



The Merchant Prince 

Bluegrass. 
Shall I order the nuptial plumage ? 

Whetstone. 
For both. At once. 

Enter Punch with garments on each arm. 

Punch. 
Ladies and gentlemens, I have some beautiful wedding 
garments. 

Efiter Scythe, enthusiastically^ zuith hand-net and beetle. 

Scythe. 
I 've caught the beetle ! [^Exhibiting a large beetle. 

Whetstone. 
Send it to my Cornville Museum 1 

Northlake. 
A word with thee, my gallant Mayor Whetstone : 
There's one within, who, having heard afar 
Thy strange adventures in this seaside town, — 
Thy loves, thy titles, and thy masquerades, 
And more especially thy fearful duel 
In the wood, — instanter boarded cars at Cornville 
To rescue and to succor thee in peril ; 
She's here, — she waits, — and now she doth appear. 

He opens a door and Susan enters. 



of Cornville. 



Susan ! 
Hercules ! 
Dear Susan ! 
Dear Hercules ! 
Oh, Susan ! 



Whetstone. 

Susan. 
Whetstone. 

Susan. 
Whetstone. 



[They embrace. 



Susan [surveying hifri]. 

Why, Hercules, how you 've changed ! I do declare ! 
your clothes are full of wrinkles. How thin you 've grown ! 
you must have lost twenty pounds ! I must make you, this 
very night, a cup of my elder-blossom tea ; I 've brought the 
blossoms with me [taking package from pochi]. Hercules, 
can it be that you would have forsaken your Susan? 



Why, Susan ! 



Whetstone. 



Susan. 



I knew it could never be. 

Whetstone [petting her"]. 

That 's right, Susan ; we '11 be married, 
we'll be married, Susan ! 

167 



Think of it. 



The Merchant Prince. 

[^Afuslc. PoMPEY and Hannibal open doors on veranda, 
showing dining-hall; and Pompey announces that din- 
ner is served. 

NORTHLAKE. 

May you all be my guests ! There 's indoors spread a 
merry cap-sheaf to this mirthful wooing. Let all proceed 
within. 

Violet \_ presenting Ideal]. 

Uncle, my Ideal. 

NoRTHLAKE. 

Violet, my niece, happy art thou who hast for real thy 
Ideal. 

Violet \_persuasively'\. 

Good uncle, thou wilt not cut down the tree in the 
orchard ? 

Northlake. 

Nay, 't will bear good fruit in good season. 

Violet \Jo the company], 
A philosophic uncle, and a kind one. 



Curtain. 
i68 



